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ACTION NOVELS 


MAGAZINE 


ie 


- GUNS ROAR... 


OVER LERDVIL 


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TLL SEND МҮ FIRST LESSON 


J. E. Smith, President 
National Radio Institute 
The man who has directe 
the home study training o 
ore men for the Radio 
ndustry than any other 
man in America, 


Service 
Manager 
For Four 

Stores 


NI 


rage 

énrolled with N. R. f. In 
а few months 1 made 
enough to pay for the 
ps three or four times, 


am now Radio service 
nager for the M 
our staves 905 And = 5 
YAN, 1535 Slade St., Fall 
iver, Mass, 
$10 Week 
In 
Spare Time 
“My work 


STIL REC. Ma. 
Radio ве gerv- 

cing, with some Publio 
29 ress Systems work—al 
n my spare time. My 
earnings in Radio amount 


о ut $10 я week.’”’— 
м MEYER, T 
Ridge Road, Hobart, nd 
Earnings 
Tripled 

By N. R. l. 

Training 

j doi haie been 
E n b 
тізе ris: 
R. I, Training. My present 
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sider №, R. I. Training 
ith in the world.’ 
ent kiyn, N. Y. 


jui 


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fads Lg E плане am 

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more than in 1934! ,000,000 homes are today 
equipped with Radios, and every year millions of 
these sets go out of date and are replaced with 
newer models, Millions more need servicing, new 
tubes, repairs, etc. Broadcasting stations 
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о 
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en I have 


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6 Give You Practical Experience 

My Course is not alk book training. I send you 
special Radio equipment and sh how to 
onduct experiments and build h 
lustrate important principles used in modern Ra- 
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GOOD FOR BOTH 


J. E. SMITH, President, Dept. 7AA2 
National Radio Institute, 


y ADDRESS 
CITY 
* 


64 PAGE BOOK. 
SAMPLE LESSON 


Washington, D. C. 

Dear Mr. Smith: Without obligating me, send the sample 
lesson and your book which tells about the spare time and full 
time opportunities in Radio and explains your 50-50 method of 4 3 
training men at home іп spare time to become Radio Experte, (Please write plainly.) 


NAME en cis . — — — —— —p— 1. — 


IN RADIO 


253 
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were 
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IE 


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= 


ACTION NOVELS 


MAGAZINE 


Vol. II, No. 6 January, 1937 


CONTENTS 


TWO COMPLETE NOVELS 


A BIG 75,000 WORD NOVEL 
GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE.......... Harry Sinclair Drago 6 


This is the story of a desperate range feud, a smashing story of the old West, 
set in the Oregon cow - country in the days before the barbed wire came, when 
the big outfits gave to themselves the rights of judge and jury and the verdict, 
all too often, was the pistol - flash of death. 


AN ACTION-PACKED OWL-HOOT NOVEL 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE.......... Hugh Pendexter 84 


All hell broke loose in Leadville, the worst of the roaring towns, when Leon 
ot eed his gun-toting followers looked for the pot of gold at the end of 
the rainbow. 


A SMASHING SHORT STORY 
TURN THEM SHEEP LOOSE l. Frank C. Robertson 106 


It’s an old story, this war between the cattlemen and the sheepmen, but in this 
instance it was started by something besides the woolies grazing where the cow- 
critters wanted to go. 


FEATURES 
THE RAMBLING RANNY................. Jon L. Blummer 82 
A Story in Pictures. 
TAR REMUDA ĩðiI eee ee ет A Pen Pal Department 115 


THE TRADING POST............A “Swapper’s” Department 119 


FOR THE BEST IN POPULAR FICTION, READ A DOUBLE ACTION MAGAZINE— 
Double Action Western, Real Western, Wesiern Action Novels, Mystery Novels, Real 
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Western, Double Action Gang. LOOK FOR THIS TRADE MARK 


WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE, published every other month by WINFORD PUB- 
LiCATIONS, INC., at 165 Franklin St., New York, N. Y. Copyright, 1987, by WINFORD PUB- 
LiCATIONS, INC. Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office at New York, N. Y. Single 
copy price, 15с. Yearly subscription, Tic. 


Manuscripts must be accompanted by self-addressed stamped envelopes, and are submitted at the author's risk. 


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Sur 


CHAPTER I 
RANGE Hoc 


HE long twilight of late June was 

fading rapidly into night as a horse- 

man crested the low hills to the east 
of the Willow Vista Ranch. Momentarily, 
man and beast were silhouetted against the 
skyline, for behind them the moon was al- 
ready tipping the mountain-desert with 
silver, 

Both bore evidence of a slashing ride. 

A tight-lipped grunt of satisfaction es- 
caped the man as he caught his first glimpse 
of the distant lights that marked the ranch- 
house pale, buttery daubs of yellow, glow- 
ing dimly against the black bulk of the 
Steen Mountains beyond. 

“Old Slick-ear better be there," he grum- 
bled desperately as he raked his horse with 
his spurs. 

The big dun, obviously winded, was 
heaving violently, its distended nostrils 
blood-flecked. The spurs bit cruelly. The 
horse trembled and tried to hold back, eyes 
rolling wildly. Heart and lungs were burst- 
ing, and fear—not unlike that known to 
humans—was clamping its icy fingers on 
the animal. 


KY GUARDIANS 


A Complete 
Action 


ENSC 


The man realized that the end was not 
far away. By choice, he was not a killer 
of horses; but the business on which he 
rode was urgent enough to make him reck- 
less of horseflesh as well as himself. The 
news he brought was important, and in the 
end, minutes would spell the difference be- 
tween success and failure. 

The way was down hill now, two miles. 


A story of a desperate range feud. A 
Oregon cow-country in the days before 
outfits gave to themselves the rights of 

often, was the pistol- 


Sinclair Drago 


'The horse plunged onward in a last gal- 
lant effort. Тһе man's eyes were alert, as 
though expecting the animal to go down 
any moment. Danger to himself was great, 
unless he managed to jump clear. He was 
not unmindful of it, nor was he unmoved 
by the dun's gameness. Since late after- 
noon, they had covered the fifty long, des- 
ert miles that lay between the Bar S on 


smashing story of the Old West, set in the 
the barbed wire came, when the big 
judge and jury and the verdict, all too 
flash of death. 


x i 


the South Fork of the Owyhee and the 
home ranch on Rebel Creek. 

The man had come even farther. He 
had been in the saddle since morning. The 
horse he rode now was the fourth that 
had served him that day. He was not an 
emotional man, but the dun happened to 
belong to him. Maybe that made a dif- 
ference. 

“І reckon if there's a horse heaven you'll 
just about reach it, Baldy," he muttered 
grimly, a tortured look in his eyes. But 
of course a man gets to know a horse rather 
well in four years. 

Suddenly the wooden bridge at Rebel 
Creek loomed out of the darkness at him. 
A tattoo of flying hoofs rang out sharp 
and pregnant with alarm as the dun thun- 
dered across the planks. In the stillness 
of the early evening the drumming echoed 
and re-echoed across the valley until it 
reached the house. 

Supper was over, but two men and a girl 
sat at the long table in the dining-room, 
memorandum books and a pile of freight 
bills spread out before them. All three 
looked up sharply. 

“What was that?” the girl asked appre- 
hensively. Нег father, seated across the 


8 WESTERN ACTION 


table, was busy with his note-books again. 
He smiled to himself over her anxiety. 

Just somebody crossing the bridge, 
Letty,” he said. 

“Whoever it is, he ain't losin’ no time," 
the ether man remarked. He was Joe 
Tracey, the foreman of Willow Vista. 
“He’s sure comin’ fast,” he added to him- 
self, 

Letty Stall went to the open window and 

red out, but she could not see anything. 

he moon was just beginning to peep over 
the hills to the east. Even as she tartied 
at the window, it grew lighter. Presently, 
she could make out a moving smudge of 
blackness in the dark. Recognition was 
still impossible. 

Just why a madly driven horse at this 
hour of the evening should tighten her 
throat with a premonition of trouble, she 
could not say. Usually it meant sickness 
or possibly the death of one of her father’s 
men—something that had been happening 
ever since Old Henry had brought her up 
from San Francisco to spend her first sum- 
mer on one of the Bar S ranches. 

But that was years ago. She was twenty 
now, and if San Francisco regarded her only 
as a charming débutante, she was quite 
used to the exigencies of ranch life, with 
doctors and hospitals miles away. Still, 
it in no way explained the feeling that 
gripped her to-night. 

Eastern Oregon was a new country. Stall 
and Matlack had dene well in Harney and 
Malheur counties. They owned not less 
than eleven ranches in that big sweep of 
country between the Steen Mountains and 
the Snake, an empire unto themselves. 
Their brand, the Bar S, was as well-known 
—and hated—there as it long had been in 
Nevada and certain parts of California. 

Steve Matlack was no longer active in 
the affairs of Bar S. In the truest sense, 
he never had been active. From the begin- 
ning, Henry Stall had been the npe 
force behind their success. He had le 
the invasion into Nevada, and later into 
Oregon. 


E had been in the Steen Mountain 

country for twelve years now—a pe- 
riod in which he had never failed to arro- 
gate to himself all the rights and priv- 
ileges of a reigning monarch. What he 
wanted, he took; and he managed to keep 
it, too—either with the aid of the courts 
or without them. It was his boast that 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


he had never vented a brand of his on 
horse or steer, nor sold an acre of land once 
he had acquired it. 

Letty knew the feeling against her father 
often ran high. Cowmen called him а 
range hog. Threats had been made against 
his life. Only a few days back, over in 
Harney Valley, he had been fired on from 
ambush. If the bullet had missed him it 
was because the shot had been intended 
only as a warning. 

It had not deterred him. Letty knew 
nothing could change her father. He would 
go on grabbing land and water rights, run- 
ning more and more cattle, until he died. 
Trouble was sure to come of it, sooner 
perhaps than he supposed, and as she stood 
at the window, her blood thinning, she 
could not throw off the depressing feeling 
that, whoever the rider was, his business 
there brought that day nearer. 

The moon hung low above the hills now, 
bathing the valley with its soft glow. Barns 
and corrals gleamed whitely. The oncom- 
ing horse splashed across the shallow irri- 
gation ditch that supplied the ranch truck- 
patch, lashing the water to spray. As it 
fell back, the moonlight touched it and it 
glistened like tiny particles of silver tinsel 
drifting on the air. 

“Who is it?” old Henry asked. 

*Can't make out," Tracey answered, his 
eyes screwed into a piercing squint. Across 
the yard, someone came to the door of the 
bunkhouse and held up a lighted lantern. 
“We'll know in a minute who it is." 

The old man leaned over the table and 
peered out with the others, his face, ruddy 
against the gray of his closely-cropped hair, 
as stolid as usual. 

it was only a moment or two before 
the horse galloped into the ranch-yard. 
Then, before anyone could speak, the ani- 
mal crashed to earth, throwing its rider 
headlong. 

*Rode him till he dropped!" Tracey ex- 
claimed. ‘Whoever he is he got a good 
shakin’ up.” Не put a leg through the 
window to hurry to the stranger's aid. Men 
were running from the bunkhouse, too. 
The man who had been thrown had not 
moved. 

*He's dead!" Letty gasped, unable to 
look away. 

“Мө danger of that," her father said 
sourly. “It’s the horse that’s dead. They're 
cheap enough, but it’s a waste of good 
money to ride them until they drop." 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 9 


Before Tracey could climb through the 
window, the man sat up. Не shook his 
head as though to clear it and then got 
to his feet. He was tall, and thin, almost 
to emaciation. 

Old Henry bit at the ends of his stubby 
mustache. 
uine surprise. That's Mr. Case of the 
South Fork ranch, isn't it?" 

He always addressed his foreman as Mis- 
ter. It was equivalent to knighthood with 
Bar S men. 

"It's Judd as sure as shooting!" Tracey 
exclaimed. He turned to the old man, 
and his eyes were suddenly grave. What's 
he doin' way over here?" 

The owner of the Bar S dropped his 
ever-handy note-books into his pocket. 
Judd Case had been working for him for 
years. The man was altogether too level- 
headed to have ridden fifty miles over 
nothing at all. 

"I daresay it won't be anything pleas- 
ant,” he muttered glumly. “Good news 
doesn’t travel fast like that.” 

From the conversation without, they 
knew Judd was not seriously hurt. The 
Willow Vista men started back to their 
quarters. A moment later, the foreman 
of the South Fork ranch limped into the 
dining-room. 

Old Slick-ear looked him over as though 
he hoped to discover the r for his 
presence there even before e could 
speak. Failing in that, he put his ques- 
tion into words. What is it, Mr. Case?” 
he asked abruptly. 

“Certainly glad to find ya here,” Case 
replied. Mind if I sit down? Got shook 
up a little.” Now that he had arrived he 
seemed strangely unexcited. He nodded to 
Tracey. “Hi, Joe? And you, Miss Letty?” 
Unhurried, he turned to Stall once more. 
“T was afraid you and Miss Letty might 
have gone back to the Quinn River ranch, 
on your way south.” He paused momen- 
tarily, hunting for words. I came a right 
smart ways to-day, Mr. Stall. I was in 
Wild Horse this morning.” 

*Wild Horse?" the old man grunted in- 
credulously. The others did not try to 
conceal their surprise. Wild Horse was a 
shipping point on the Oregon Short Line, 
and well across into Idaho. Ordinarily, 
it was considered a hard two-day trip. 

But most of the Bar S beef was driven 
south to the Southern Pacific at Winne- 
mucoa. So, although Wild Horse was a 


"Huh," he muttered with gen- 


county seat, being in Idaho, Stall and Mat- 
lack had little or no business there. That 
little was confmed to the Government Land 
Office where the deputy commissioner for 
the Oywhee-Malheur district held forth. 

“My blacksmith quit last week,” Judd 
explained. “I went over to Wild Horse 
to see if I couldn't hire a new man. I got 
that attended to last night. I was waitin' 
around the hotel for breakfast this morn- 
ing when I run into Clay Quantrell. I guess 
you know him. He's been freightin' out of 
Wild. Horse and doin' a little ranchin' on 
the side for two or three years," 

“Yes, I know him," the old man mut- 
tered, and his tone said the memory was 
not a pleasant one. “What about him?” 

“He wanted to know if I’d been over 
to the land office. Well, I didn’t like the 
way he said it,” Judd went on. “Т always 
figured he was on the other side of the 
fence where we were concerned. So I 
waited around until eight o’clock and 


went up to the commissioner’s office. I 


sure got the news." 

“Come, come, Mr. Case, let's have it!” 
old Henry exploded, impatiently.. He 
had been making his own deductions the 
past few moments. “Has it anything to 
do with Squaw Valley?" 

“You guessed it, Mr. Stall! The Gov- 
ernment is movin’ the Piutes over to Fort 
Hall next month. The Squaw Valley Res- 
ervation is going to be thrown open for 
sale.“ 

“Well, well, no fault to find with that!“ 
Letty saw her father rub his hands to- 
gether like a money- lender. Finest blue 
joint grass in Oregon!” he exclaimed. “You 
know I’ve had my heart set on it for a long 
while. This is the best news I’ve heard in 
months!" Не actually beamed at his men 
as he pushed back his chair and got to his 
feet. “Jim Montana is still the deputy 
commissioner, eh?" 

“Yeah,” Judd answered tonelessly. 

“When is he going to hold his sale?” 

“Tomorrow noon on the steps of the 
court-house in Wild Horse!" 

What. . Tomorrow moon?” 


N the silence that followed, the tick of 
the clock on the wall sounded loud and 
oppressive. Letty closed the window. Her 
father's face was purple with rage. 
"Well, I do be damned!" Joe Tracey 
whipped out as he brought his chair down 
on all fours with a bang. It so perfectly 


10 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


expressed old Slick-ear’s feelings that he 
offered no reproof, though, as a rule, he 
objected to profanity. “You sure you got 
this straight, Judd?” 

“Sure I got it straight, Joe. The sale 
is going to be held tomorrow.” 

“But Montana promised to keep me in- 
formed,” old Henry stormed. “He was to 
let me know if anything like this came up.” 

“Well, maybe this is his of lettin’ 
you know, Mr. Stall,” Judd declared point- 
edly. There's no use beatin’ about the 
bush. I know Jim Montana used to work 
for you here. Don’t let that fool you. He 
don’t want the Bar S in Squaw Valley. If 
he can fix it so that the Crocketts and the 
Gaults and those other outfits above the 
reservation can grab that range and split 
it up between them, he’s goin’ te do it.” 

“But he can’t sell an acre of that land 
without advertising it! The law compels 
him to do that!” 

Judd shook his head wearily. “It’s been 
advertised—and mighty good care has been 
taken that only the right people saw it.” 

Letty’s head went up stiffly and her 
brown eyes glowed with indignation as she 
faced the foreman of the South Fork. 

Mr. Case—you're not accusing Jim Mon- 
tana of anything underhanded, are you?” 

Her father answered for Judd. Un- 
derhanded?" he echoed. “What else can 
you call it? I've had my eyes on that res- 
ervation for ten years, because I can claim 
water rights in that valley! I always fig- 
ured some day T'd get it. With my water 
and that land Га have a cowman's para- 
dise. Montana knew how anxious I was 
about it." 

*Maybe he had a reason for changing 
his mind," Letty argued. 

“What? Are you taking sides against 
me?” Old Henry’s white mustache fairly 
bristled. 

“Of course not, Father.” She did not 
flinch as she had often seen men do who 
had thought to cross him. 

“Well, you’re making excuses for him. 
What reason do you think he had for 
changing his mind?” 

“Maybe he feels as others do—that 
you’ve got range enough in this country. 
Just being opposed to you doesn’t neces- 
sarily mean that he’s been underhanded 
about anything. When he worked for you 
he proved himself a good man. You said 
so yourself.” 


“Pah!” he stormed. ‘You heard what 


Mr. Case said, didn’t you? I know when 
I've been tricked. You need not try to 
defend the man.” 

I'm not,” Letty insisted. But there's 
trouble enough here now—and more com- 
ing, if I know anything about it. If Jim 
Montana is ing to keep you out of 
Squaw Valley it’s only because he thinks 
it’s the best thing for all concerned.” 

The head of the Bar S had to laugh, 
and he was not given to mirth as a rule. 

“Best for himself, you mean,” he said. 
“Well, he’s had his trouble for nothing.” 
His manner was serious enough. “I’ve al- 
ways had to fight for what I got, and Pm 
going to fight now." Не turned to Joe 
Tracey. “You have my grays hitched, Mr. 
Tracey. Ill be ready by the time you 
drive up." 

Letty stared at him with fresh concern. 
"Father, what are you going to do?" 

I'm going to Wild Horse! Il be there 
by noon tomorrow!” 

“Oh, no,” Letty pleaded. “Father, you're 
too old to make a hard trip like that—” 

“Old?” he thundered. “Hunh! I’m not 
so old that I'll let Montana put anything 
over like this on me. Just hurry along, 
Mr. Tracey.” 

Judd started to follow Joe. Old Henry 
called him back. 

“You better get your saddle and bridle, 
Mr. Case. You can throw them in my 
тір and ride back with me. That'll save 
sending a man back with a horse later on.” 

Old Slick-ear always knew how to save 
a day’s wages. But he paid the top price, 
and he expected his men to earn it. His 
preparations for the long trip were simple. 
His field equipment in traveling over his 
ranches consisted of a nightshirt, a tooth- 
brush and his note-books. When he re- 
turned to the dining-room, he found Letty 
waiting for him. Her hat lay on the table 
beside her. 

*Father, you know you can't drive to 
Wild Horse by noon tomorrow." 

«І don't intend to drive all the way. I'll 
use the grays as far as the South Fork. 
Ill get a fresh team there and go on to 
Mud Springs. I ought to make the Springs 
by daylight. I'll get a saddle horse from 
Ed Ducker and go into Wild Horse with 
time to spare.” Letty was drawing on 
her gloves. The old man's eyes clouded as 
he watched her. Where are you going?” 

“With you,” she answered without hesi- 
tation. 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 11 


“Hunh?” he grunted, his jaws working 
nervously. Say, look here, Letty, this 
isn’t any lark: I don’t mind your defying 
me around here; but I’m not taking you 
into Wild Horse. It’s a hard trip—hard 
even for a man.” 

“If you can stand it I can,” she assured 
him. 

“But you don’t belong in business of 
this sort. There'll be a crowd there 
maybe trouble!” : 

„That's just why I’m going. You know 
what the feeling is against you. Do you 
think I'd let you go alone?" 

“I don't intend to go in alone," she was 
surprised to hear him say. I'm going to 
have Mr. Tracey send word to Furnace 
Creek. I'll have them and the South Fork 
men to back me up. Squaw Valley is go- 
ing to the highest bidder—and I don't in- 
tend to be cheated out of it!" 

Letty's face paled. If she had needed 
anything to confirm her fears, she had it 
now. : 

“There you аге!” she exclaimed. Vou've 
given yourself away! You wouldn't be 
drawing men in if you didn't expect trou- 
ble. I tell you, I’m going with you, 
Father!” 

They were still arguing the matter when 
Judd and Tracey drove up in the rig. 

“All right,” he grumbled. “If you must 
go, get a heavy coat. It'll be right cold be- 
fore sun-up.” 


CHAPTER II 
“Say WHAT You MEAN!” 


LITTLE knot of men stood grouped 
about the big map on the court-house 
steps. The land that was to be auc- 

tioned off was divided into quarter sections 
of one hundred and sixty acres. They 
spoke among themselves, a conscious re- 
straint in their manner. Under the cotton- 
woods on the court-house lawn, other men 
waited, tall, lanky, their faces seamed and 
tanned in the way of desert men. There 
was a twang to their speech not unlike 
what one hears in the mountains of Ken- 
tucky. It was natural, for these men, as 
their fathers before them, had come from 
Kentucky and Tennessee, a hard-fighting 
race of pioneers who had been breaking the 
wilderness for generations. 

There was a holiday air about their plain 
clothes; the occasion was important enough 
to warrant that. From time to time, one 


or the other would glance at his watch. 

Jim Montana, seated at his desk in his 
office on the second floor, turned from 
watching them to glance at the clock on 
the wall. It was only eleven-thirty; half 
an hour yet before the sale would begin. 

The tension that so obviously rested on 
the men below found an echo in him. 
There was a set look about his strong 
mouth, the little laugh lines in the corners 
straight and uncompromising. His lean 
jaw, determined enough at any time, jutted 
out severely. 

“No sign of trouble yet,” he mused. 
“Maybe I’m going to get away with this 
after all. . . . It won't take long.“ 

Wild Horse was a one-street town. The 
court-house stood at one end of it. From 
where he sat, Montana commanded a view 
of it, There were very few vacant places 
at the hitchracks in front of the stores 
and saloons. Saddled horses and rigs of 
one sort or another lined both sides of the 
street, It was Saturday. That always 
brought people to town. But this was like 
the Fourth of July. Some men had 
brought their families with them—women 
and children to whom even such a place 
as Wild Horse held excitement and diver- 
sion. 

Montana had grown up on a ranch; he 
could appreciate the interest with which 
three sun-browned boys were regarding the 
articles on display in the window of Charlie 
Brown’s hardware store. 

“This thing today is going to mean a 
lot to them later on — school and better 
clothes," he thought. 

Across the street an Indian stalked out 
of the tiny frameshack that served Clay 
Quantrell as an office for his freight and 
express business. Montana recognized 
him. It was young Plenty Eagles. He was 
not a reservation Indian. Since the snow 
had gone off that spring, he had been team- 
ing for Quantrell between Wild Horse and 
the Jordan River Country. 

Quantrell came to the door a moment 
later and called to the Indian, but Plenty 
Eagles only walked faster. He was mak- 
ing directly for the entrance to the court- 
house, and it was easy to see that he was 
enraged over something. 

*Looks like a bad day all around for 
our red brothers," Jim thought aloud. He 
shook his head sadly. His sympathy was 
all with them. He toyed with the freshly 
stamped letter that lay on his desk, It 


12 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


contained his resignation, He knew forces 
would be brought to bear against him for 
what he was doing today that would make 
his dismissal certain. The resignation was 
just his way of beating those forces to the 
draw. 

He did not regret the stand he was tak- 
ing. It would make him enemies as well as 
friends. That seemed rather unimportant 
just now. “A man’s got to play his cards 
according to the way they’re dealt to him,” 
he thought. 

Someone was clumping up the stairs. 
The door of his office stood open. A mo- 
ment later, Plenty Eagles stamped in. Clay 
Quantrell was only a step behind him. 

Plenty Eagles was tall fora Piute. He 
brought a great excitement into the room 
with him, his piercing black eyes smoking 
with rage. 

Jim knew him well. He raised his hand 
and gave him the sign. “How, Cola!” - 

Plenty Eagles drew himself up stiffly. 
“Хо! Long time I am knowing you. 
When you work for Henry Stall many 
times I am come to your camp. Always 
you spread the robe for me and call me 
brother. І am trusting you, Aiee ! Не 
pulled down the corners of his mouth with 
withering contempt. “Your tongue is 
crooked! It says one thing and means 
other!” 

Montana looked to Quantrell for the an- 
swer to all this. 

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Jim,” 
Quantrell said, trying to make light of the 
matter. “I tried to talk to him, but he 
wouldn't listen. He thinks you are driv- 
ing his people off the reservation,” 

“My father old man; he not like leav- 
ing reservation,” Plenty Eagles exclaimed 
fiercely, “Squaw Valley good place, he say. 
Indians living there long time. Not go 
away. All the time he sad for these hills.” 

Quantrell found a chair and sprawled all 
over it. “Did you ever hear anythin’ 
sillier?” he laughed again. 

His derision rubbed Montana the wrong 
way. They were not the cronies Quan- 
trell liked to pretend they were, although 
of late he had. been spending a lot of time 
in Jim’s office. 

“Nothing very. funny about this to me,” 
Montana said coolly. “Plenty Eagles: is 
right; it’s a damned nasty business yanking 
his people out of Squaw Valley. When 
they consented to go there they were led to 
believe the valley would be theirs forever. 


Now some fathead in Washington has dis- 
covered the Government can save a few 
dollars by packing them off to Fort Hall.” 
He turned to the Indian. “You bet it’s 
pretty tough, Plenty Eagles. You tell your 
father my heart feels for him. I love these 
hills, too.” 

“Then why you make him go?” 

"I not make him go,” Montana an- 
swered with great patience. Letter 
comes; says Piutes go to Fort Hall; sell 
reservation. Men in Washington do this— 
not me.” 

“Sure, Plenty Eagles! You got this all 
wrong," Quantrell cut in, his face an emo- 
tionless mask even as he grinned, his teeth 
white against his swarthy skin. “Jim didn't 
have anything to do with it. When the 
soldiers came up from Fort McDermitt next 
month to move your folks, they'll go 
peaceful enough. "They'll have to go; ain't 
nothing else for 'em to do. Better hitch 
up your team and pull out; you got a heavy 
load." 

Jim knew Plenty Eagles had not been 
listening to Quantrell. There was a puz- 
zled look on the Indian's face. 

“You put up plenty sign about sell res- 
ervation," said he. I show him to Quan- 
trell. Не say, “Таке down those signs; 
Montana not have sale.’ Me, I tear them 
up. Now you have sale anyhow." 


F Quantrell was surprised or annoyed 

by Plenty Eagles' admission that he had 
destroyed the legal notices of the sale, he 
gave no sign of it. 

*Did you tell him that, Clay?" Jim 
asked, pushing back his chair as though 
to get to his feet. Quantrell waved him 
down. 

“Don’t be foolish!” he drawled. “Не 
just got me wrong, that's all. I—happen 
to know they can send you to prison for 
tearing up them things.” Не lit a ciga- 
rette and blew a cloud of smoke in the 
Indian's .direction. “Plenty Eagles, I 
wouldn't go around repeating what you just 
said. It might get you into trouble." 

The baffled look deepened in the Piute's 
eyes. He sensed that there was a game 
here, but he couldn’t understand it. 
Prison? He understood that perfectly. His 
face remained immobile and stern, but his 
shoulders sagged impotently; he had been 
tricked before. Without another word he 
shuffled out of the office and went down 
the stairs. 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 18 


Quantrell smoked his cigarette uncon- 
cernedly. He knew Montana was regard- 
ing him thoughtfully. An impudent smile 
parted his lips. “Don’t pretend you're sur- 
prised,” he purred. ‘You knew the signs 
were down. You did your duty; you put 
'em up. If they didn't stay up, you should 
worry. It served your purpose as well as 
mine." 

“Yeah?” Montana’s blue eyes were cold 
and gray. "You're pretty sure I've got a 
purpose, eh?" 

"I hope to tell you I am!” Quantrell 
began to lose some of the nonchalance he 
liked to affect as Montana continued to re- 
gard him. “I got your play right off. You 
want to freeze old Slick-ear out of Squaw 
Valley." Quantrell permitted himself an- 
other smile. “Feeling the same way about 
it, I began to sit up nights, figuring out 
ways to help you." 

“When I need help I usually know how 
to ask for it." Jim’s tone was definitely 
hostile. “Why are you so interested?" 

“That’s a fair question," Quantrell re- 
plied bluntly. III give you a fair answer. 
Half of my business has been freighting 
Government issues to the agency in Squaw 
Valley. That's all over now. But if you 
can't make a living one way, you got to 
do it another. God knows that ranch of 
mine will never put a dollar in my pocket 
asitstands. My only out is to buy in some 
of this reservation bottom land, so I'll 
have hay and water and make it a going 


concern. I'm chucking the freighting 
business." 
“Oh E 5% 


“I guess you know now why І don't 
want Henry Stall poking his nose into 
Squaw Valley and gobbling up the whole 
damn works." Quantrell hitched his chair 
nearer to the desk and leaned forward con- 
fidentially. Seeing the conversation has 
taken this turn, Jim,” he ran on, “reminds 
me of something. Section number seven— 
just above the forks—is what I got my eye 
on. You can—fix things so ГІ get it, can’t 
you?” 

The silence that followed grew oppres- 
sive. Quantrell began to fidget as Jim’s 
eyes burned into his. 

“Clay—I ought to kick you out of here 
for that," he said at last. “You talk as 
though you had something on me, If you 
have—shoot! I'm not fixing anything for 
anybody." 


“Of course not!" Quantrell knew he 


had over-stepped himself. “АП I meant 
was—if you can give me a break, why— 
ПІ appreciate it." 

“Well, you want to say what you mean 
with me," Montana flung back. He pulled 
himself erect and walked over to the win- 
dow and gazed up and down the street. 
Plenty Eagles was pulling out of town with 
his twelve-mule team. 

Only the droning of the flies, sail- 
ing in and out of the unscreened win- 
dow, and the ticking of the clock on the 
wall broke the silence as Quantrell rolled 
another cigarette. As he moistened the 
paper with his tongue, he raised his eyes 
to flash a glance of hatred at Montana's 
back. “ГІ square that some day," he 
promised himself. 

Jim’s eyes had strayed to the road that 
led into town from the southwest. Quan- 
trell saw him stiffen. He failed to surmise 
the reason, 

“Well, only a few minutes now and you 
can get started," he drawled. “АП the in- 
terested parties are present." 

“Yes—thanks to you!” Jim whipped out. 

Quantrell caught the challenge in his 
voice. What do you mean?" he demanded 
as Jim whirled on him. 

* Judd Case was in here yesterday morn- 
ing. Said you'd been talking to him." 

Quantrell flushed. No use denying it,” 
he got out awkwardly. “Just razzing him 
a little. It was too late to do any harm.” 

«І might have known it,“ Montana 
ground out furiously. ‘You had to play 
the tin-horn, didn’t you?” 

“Say, muchacho, I don’t intend to eat 
all the dust you kick up!” Quantrell tow- 
ered above Montana as they faced each 
other, his mouth cruel and reckless. 

“Take a look out the window.” 

A dozen men were riding into town. 
They were armed — alert and unfriendly. 
Quantrell let a grunt of dismay escape him. 

“You know them?” Montana rasped un- 
pleasantly. 

“Reb Russell and the Bar S bunch from 
Furnace Creek!” The big fellow’s voice 
trailed away to a smothered whisper. 

“Look the other way—beyond the tracks. 
See anything?” 

“My God!” was Quantrell’s answering 
exclamation. 

“Yeah! Too late to do any harm, eh? 
You ought to grow up, Quantrell. This'll 
be the old man himself and his South Fork 
outfit. They're not here by accident.” 


14 WESTERN ACTION 


Downstairs the hum of conversation fell 
away to an excited whisper. The sober 
faces of the men who had been waiting 
about the court-house grew graver as they 
recognized Reb and his men. They drew 
together, silent and tight of lip. Suddenly 
the very air had become charged with a 
breathless tension. 

Quantrell’s air of confidence had van- 
ished when he turned away from the win- 
dow, “It’s a shown-down now,” he got out. 
“Are you going through with your play?” 

“T haven't any play left," Montana an- 
swered stonily. “А tin-horn kicked my 
hand into the discard." 

Quantrell reared up defiantly, his face 
white with rage. 

“Get going!” Montana warned. “When 
that crowd downstairs learns the right of 
this they'll be leoking for you with a 
rope! » 


CHAPTER IIT 
To THE HIGHEST BIDDER 


ACK in the beginning, when the rape 
of the West began, the universal in- 
tention of cattleman and miner had 

been to rip out a fortune in a hurry. No- 
body was concerned about the land or its 
future. That was still the thought when 
Henry Stall, a German butcher-boy, come 
to California to make his fortune, first set 
foot in San Francisco. 

Frugal and industrious, he proved an apt 
pupil. Fifteen years later, men were call- 
ing him the cattle-king as he journeyed up 
and down the San Joaquin, his note-book 
in his pocket. It was his own domain; his 
by right of conquest. 

“On March 16th, and again a week later, 
seated in a rowboat, we traveled back and 
forth across the area herein described," 
two of his men made sworn affidavits to the 
U. S. Land Office in an action looking to- 
ward the acquiring of still more land. The 
two men were in the rowboat, as they tes- 
tified; but they failed to state that the row- 
boat had been lashed to a wagon and that 
a team of horses had drawn them over the 
land in question. It was typical of Henry 
Stall. 

With his chain-store mind and mania 
for expansion, it was inevitable that he 
should invade Nevada and later, Oregon. 
In this semi-desert country there was an 
abundance of range, but precious little 
water. Immediately, he began to prospect 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


for it, filing on every creek and spring he 
found unused, making them his own by 
the simple expedient of proving his priority 
and a real ог fancied use of the waters in 
question. Once established, those rights 
were his forever, and he foresaw that 
through them he would dominate this coun- 
try sooner or later even as he did the San 
Joaquin. 

That thought had been in his mind the 
August day he first rode into Squaw Val- 
ley Other than the reservation, it was all 
uninhabited public domain, open to entry. 
With dummy entrymen he could have 
homesteaded most of it, or bought it in 
for the proverbial song. He was not 
minded to do either, for without the res- 
ervation there was not enough good range 
in sight to interest him. It satisfied him 
to buy a few scattered acres and establish 
what water rights he could. 

In the twelve years that had intervened, 
one small outfit after another had moved 
into the valley, using water that he con- 
sidered his. He made no protest, willing 
to bide his time until such a day as this 
arrived. He knew the passing years had 
not outlawed his rights—not with the legal 
talent he could send to the firing line. 
Those old water rights were an ace in the 
hole now. 

If he rode into Wild Horse outwardly 
his usual phlegmatic self, he was aware of 
the hostile glances leveled at him. It was 
no more than he expected. In the crowd 
he recognized Dan Crockett, Joe Gault and 
one or two others, 

“T don’t want to be hard on these Squaw 
Valley men,” he said to himself. “If I get 
the reservation, I'll buy them out at a fair 
price.” His idea of a fair price, of course. 
*But they can't expect to use my water if 
they band together and try to freeze me 
out. 

He rode ahead with Letty and Judd. A 
2 South Fork men followed close be- 

nd. 

“Reb’s here already,” Judd informed him 
as they neared the court-house. “Over 
there in front of the sheriff’s office.” 

“So I see.” The old man glanced at his 
watch. It was five minutes to twelve. 
“I’m going up and talk to Montana before 
the sale starts. You tell Mr. Russell I don’t 
want any trouble if it can be avoided.” 

Letty sighed wearily as she slipped from 
her saddle. The long, gruelling ride had 
told on her more than on her father, 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 15 


“You better stay here with Mr. Case,” 
he advised. 

No, I'll go up with you,” she insisted. 
It won't look so warlike if I go along." 

Montana expected the old man to come 
up. He was surprised to find Letty with 
him. It was the first time he had seen her 
in more than a year—a period in which 
he had tried unsuccessfully to keep mem- 
ory of her out of his thoughts. 

His belated ‘“Good-morning,” won no 
response from old Henry. Letty nodded, 
her manner cool and aloof and in marked 
contrast to the warm friendliness of the 
days when he had been a Bar S man. 

It hurt; but he told himself he could 
expect nothing else under the circum- 
stances. She refused the chair he offered. 

“I thought you were going to keep me 
posted about this matter," old Slick-ear 
queried without preamble of any sort. 

“Т changed my mind about that, Mr. 
Stall," Montana answered with equal blunt- 
ness. “J don't mind telling you I am sorry 
to see you here." 

That was direct enough. The old man 
drew down his shaggy eyebrows. 

*Your gratitude for the geod wages I 
paid you for three years, eh?" 

*You may not believe it, but gratitude 
had something to do with it—though I 
aim to be worthy of my hire. I never 
heard anyone accuse you of overpaying a 
man." 

It was a pertinent shot. Letty had diffi- 
culty keeping a twinkle out of her eyes 
as she saw her father's head go up indig- 
nantly. 

“You are entitled to your opinion," he 
exclaimed sharply. “But you haven't any 
right to discriminate against me." 

“Neither against nor for you," Montana 
supplemented. 

It nettled the old man to be rebuffed so 
completely. 

“I didn't come here to bandy words with 
you! The facts speak for themselves. 
When a man goes to all the bother you 
have about something that doesn't con- 
cern him, I begin to wonder what he's 
getting out of it." 

Jim refused to lose his temper. 

“T suppose you mean I may be trying 
to feather my own nest,” he said. “All I 
hoped to do was pull out of this with a 
clean conscience. But I won't try to dis- 
abuse your mind on that. You think what 
you please." 


“You can’t deny your conduct has been 
very—irregular, to say the least." 

“Possibly, irregular, but not illegal, Mr. 
Stall. I have been careful about that." 

“Agents have been removed for less.” 

The threat failed to have the desired ef- 
fect. Jim tapped the letter on his desk. 

“І have already removed -myself,” he 
said grimly. “Pll be looking for a job next 
month." 


ETTY could not help feeling that her 
father was coming off second best in 
this tilt of words. He nervously fingered 
the heavy gold watch chain that spanned 
his vest as he tried to dissemble his rage. 
*A smart Aleck gets a little authority 
and disrupts a whole country," he grum- 
bled. “Your meddling is bound to cause 
trouble." 

“Т am sorry if that is so," Jim said 
thoughtfully. “It’s been the one thing I 
wanted to avoid. Vou're a rich man, Mr. 
Stall. You don't need an acre of this 
Squaw Valley land. But take Morrow, or 
Gault, or Dan Crockett—a dozen others— 
what have they got? They're just getting 
by, that's all. Beef is down; it's been a 
dry spring. They won't make hay enough 
to carry them through next winter. I fig- 
ured if they could borrow from the bank 
and pick up some of this reservation they'd 
get enough water and bottom land to see 
'em through. It wouldn't make any of 
them rich, but it would put them on their 
feet." 

This appeal to his sympathy fell on deaf 
ears, as Jim expected. 

“I’m sorry,” the old man said, “but you 
can't expect me to wet-nurse the cattle 
business. Nobody ever helped me; what 
I've got I got for myself. All I can do to 
take care of my own business.” 

“Exactly! And it will be your business 
to run every one of these little fellows out 
of Squaw Valley. I know how you work.” 

Anger began to run away with the old 
man. What do you mean by that?" he 
demanded indignantly. 

Jim's answer was unhurried. 

“T think you know what I mean, Mr. 
Stall. I happened to discover that you filed 
on most of the water over there years ago. 
Soon as you get the reservation, you'll go 
to court and prove up on those rights. It 
will be the beginning of the end for the lit- 
tle fellows. They'll have some range, but 
you'll have their water, and they can do 


16 WESTERN ACTION 
pos Of two things: Move on without a 
Mime, or sell out to you at your own terms,” 
' The charge left old Slick-ear speechless 
for a moment. His stubby mustache bris- 
“ей like the quills on a porcupine's back, 

Letty put an arm about him protectively. 
The blood had drained away from her 


“Father —don’t bother to answer any- 
thing as absurd as that! You've always 
been fair—more than fair—" She whirled 
on Montana fiercely. “I never thought 
you could be that contemptible.” 

He had never seen her like that before, 
superb in her indignation. And yet, he 
knew he had voiced only the truth. 

I'm sorry you had to hear that,” he 
said unhappily. “You shouldn't have 
come." 

“Рт glad I came! 
lightening." 

The clock was striking twelve. 
Henry reached for his hat. 

“Come on, Letty; we'll go downstairs. 
It’s time for the sale to begin.” He turned 
to Montana for a parting shot. “I let 
those people use my water for twelve years 
зо you can accuse me of wanting to drive 
them out, eh? Well, I’m here, and I didn’t 
come alone. I don’t intend to be intimi- 
dated.” 

“Neither do I, Mr. Stall. I haven’t any 
ре warriors to back me up, but if I knew 

ow to keep you from grabbing Squaw Val- 
ley I’d do it.” 

“Tf you knew how, eh?” Old Slick-ear’s 
voice dripped with contempt. “You won’t 
have much to do about it, Montana. This 
is not my first landsale. You'll run it off 
according to the rules of the Land Office. 
The property will go the highest bidder!” 

He started for the door. Letty followed 
him, her chin held high. Clearer than 
words it told Montana in what contempt 
she held him. A tortured look in his eyes, 
he stared after her until she disappeared 
down the stairs. 

“І guess that’s final enough,” he mused 
bitterly. “Сап% blame her for stringing 
along with her father.” 

He had always regarded his affection 
for Letty Stall as hopeless. Nothing else 
had led him to leave the Bar S at a time 
when it was apparent the old man would 
have made him foreman of one of his 
ranches in a few months. 

Memories of pleasant days with her at 
the Willow Vista ranch smote him, It 


It’s been very—en- 


Old 


NOVELS MAGAZINB 


made him realize that even in his hopeless- 
ness he had never quite ceased to hope. 

Everything about this business seemed to 
have gone wrong. 

Maybe it will bring me to my senses,” 
he thought, appalled anew by the absurdity 
of daring to aspire to her. Wealth, posi- 
tion—everything removed her from his 
world. | 

It occurred to him that he might ad- 
vance his own interests by trying to placate 
her father. 

“No, I can't do that. He's wrong about 
this, and I'm right, even though he's got 
me at the end of a limb." 

This sale was the first one of importance 
that he had conducted. From a desk 
drawer he drew out his instructions and 
scanned them hastily. He had read them 
a score of times and knew them almost 
by heart. If Mr. Stall or anyone else 
wished to bid on the land as a whole, he 
would have to take the bid. He glanced 
over the terms under which the land 
might be sold, looking for a loophole or 
technicality he might invoke to defeat the 
old man even now. 

As he was about to toss the letter back 
into his desk an idea flashed in his mind 
that pulled him up short. It intrigued him 
more the longer he considered it. 

“If he does what I think he'll do, it'll 
be up to me to say yes or no," he said 
aloud in his abstraction. It's Saturday 
the bank is closed! He wouldn't have an 
out!” 

He failed to hear someone run up the 
stairs. It was Clem Harvey, his surveyor. 
There was always something breathless 
about Clem, as though he didn’t quite 
expect to finish what he had to say. 

“Gee willikens, Jim,” he exclaimed ex- 
citedly, “don’t you know its twelve 
O'clock? Everybody's waiting and people 
are beginning to get restless and—" 

I'm coming.” 

Montana's preoccupation caused Clem 
to push back his tattered Stetson and cock 
his head at him inquisitively. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong is there? Ain't 
nothin'—^ 

*No, everything is all right, Clem." 
Jim’s voice was hard and chilling. Don't 
you hear the birds singing?" 

“Birds?” A baffled look crept into 
Clem's watery eyes. 

“Yeah, buzzards! , , а 
go!" 


Come on, let's 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 17 


CHAPTER IV 
THE LETTER OF THE LAW 


GREAT hush rested on the crowd be- 
low. The Squaw Valley men had 
drawn apart, their faces grave. 

Their wives stood with them now, their 
shopping done — women old before their 
time with the never-ending drudgery that 
is a ranch-woman’s life. 

Man and wife, they resented Henry 
Stall’s presence there. In him they recog- 
nized their common enemy, come to dash 
the cup of hope from their hands even as 
they were raising it to their lips. Because 
they came of a race of stout-hearted fight- 
ing men, even hopelessness could not 
strike fear in their hearts, and as they faced 
old Slick-ear and his men, lounging in the 
shade at the side of the sheriff’s office, 
there was a smouldering defiance in their 
eyes and the set of their mouths that said 
they would not bow their heads to any 
oppressor. 

Their hostility included Letty as well 
as her father. The fineness of her clothes, 
her air of self-possession embittered them. 
She felt it, too. It was as though she had 
wronged them. It made her wonder how 
much truth there was in what Montana had 
said. Upstairs, she had championed her 
father’s cause and said he was always fair. 
In her heart, she knew he could be ruth- 
less, brooking no opposition when he’d set 
his mind on something. 

Under a spreading box-elder, just be- 
yond the steps, a young woman was trying 
to get her baby to sleep. Three other chil- 
dren, the oldest not over six, hovered about 
her, their eyes big and staring. 

'The girl was not much older than Letty, 
but already there was a pinched, hunted 
look in her eyes. There was something 
proud and defiant about her that made one 
forget her shabby clothes and hands, red 
and rough from hard work. 

“Just getting by," Montana had said. 
The words came back to Letty, and she felt 
her heart go out to the woman. Impul- 
sively she tried to caress the oldest child, 
a boy. He drew back, afraid. His mother 
drew him to her side. 

“Vou stay right here, Jess,” she scolded. 
*T don't want you takin' up with no stran- 
gers.” 

Letty turned away, pretending not to 
have heard. But everywhere she looked she 
met the same distrust and hostility. She 


knew their enmity was not perscnal to her; 
She was a stranger to them. But she was 
her father’s daughter, and they hated her 
accordingly. It drove home the realiza- 
tion that for all his talk of fair play, the 
MN. about to be enacted had an ugly 
side. 

Montana came out then. The charged 
silence deepened as he walked over to the 
big map. His manner was solemn. Letty 
thought he seemed embarrassed at finding 
himself the center of attention. 

“Tf you'll step nearer, we'll begin," he 
said. 

Quantrell, tall and saturnine, stood with 
the Squaw Valley men. He moved for- 
ward and the others followed him. Old 
Slick-ear mounted the steps alone, un- 
abashed by the glances levelled at him. 

oe read the letter authorizing the 
sale. 

“The land will be sold to the highest 
bidder,” he went on. “The terms: twenty- 
five per cent now and the balance when 
title is given.” He turned and pointed to 
the map. “The map has been divided into 
quarter sections. I cannot accept a bid for 
any parcel less than one hundred and sixty 
acres. I will begin the sale with section 
one, offering it first as a whole section. 
Are there any offers?” 

“Just a minute, Montana,” Old Henry 
interrupted. “You are authorized to ac- 
cept bids on this property as a whole.” 

It was the very thing Montana had been 
waiting for him to say. 

“That’s correct,” he admitted, his tone 
guileless. “If anybody cares to make а 
bid on the reservation as a whole I am 
compelled to accept that bid.” 

An angry murmur broke from the Squaw 
Valley men. They knew Montana and re- 
garded him as their friend. They had not 
expected him to sell them out without a 
protest. 

“Are there any bids on the property as 
a whole?” 

“Three dollars an acre!” Old Slick-ear 
clipped the words off short. 

“A man can’t come in here and hog it 
like that!” Quantrell burst out angrily. 
“Where do we come in, Montana?” 

“You're right, Quantrell! We don’t aim 
to be cheated like that!” It was Dan 
Crockett. The other Squaw Valley men 
rallied about him instantly. 

Montana continued to gaze at the old 
man. 


18 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


“That’s the minimum bid, Mr. Stall,” 
he said. “It’s a ridiculous price.” 

It's my bid!” 

The Bar S men had got to their feet and 
drawn closer. Over their heads came the 
creaking of leather as the horses fought 
the flies. 

“The law compels me to accept it,” Jim 
droned tonelessly. “Аге there any other 
bids?” 

Dan Crockett stepped up to him, his face 
grim and determined. 

“There’s going to be trouble here, Mon- 
tana, if you through with this,” he 
warned. We all thought you was our 
friend." 

*[ am your friend, Dan, but my hands 
are tied; I've got to take this bid. If 
there's any trouble here, don't you start 
it. Are there any other bids?" 

There were none. 

*Sold to Stall and Matlack!" 

Tt was a moment pregnant with tragedy. 
There were a hundred armed men in that 
crowd. It needed only a word to start the 
conflagration. 

Quantrell was beside himself. In the 
emergency, he elected to become the self- 
appointed leader of the Squaw Valley fac- 
tion. Crockett and the others were too 
stunned by the sudden turn of events to 
object. 

*Tt ain't no more than you'd expect from 
a man who'd let an Indian call him a liar 
and get away with it," he bellowed as he 
started up the steps. 

Montana kept his head. A few seconds 
now would tell the tale. The form he was 
filling out ‘was about ready.  Quantrell 
pushed in between him and the old man. 

“There'll be blood spilled here if you go 
through with this, Montana," he spit out 
threateningly. 

*And there'll be a lynching as well as 
a land sale," Jim murmured calmly as he 
finished the form. “If you think I'm bluff- 
ing—call my hand." 

Implacable hatred blazed in Quantrell's 
eyes. He wanted to go through with the 
play he had started, but wisdom warned 
him that the very men who were backing 
him up now would be the first to turn 
against him if they learned it was his bab- 
bling that had wrecked their hopes. 


LD Slick-ear thought he understood 
i Montana’s answer; but it was no af- 
fair of his. He had won easier than he 


expected, and he was content. He looked 
the form over. It was in order, He got 
out a pencil and made some figures on the 
back of his note-book. 

“Twenty-five per.cent will be eight thou- 
sand, two hundred dollars—right?"' 

“That's right, Mr. Stall,” Jim agreed. 
Eight thousand, two hundred dollars." 

The old man brought out a Stall and 
Matlack script-book as well-known as 
money in that country. Wages, bills, taxes 
—every Stall and Matlack transaction was 
paid in that familiar green script with the 
bull's head adorning it. 

“Ff you'll step up to your office," he said, 
“ГІ fill out this script." : 

The moment had arrived. Jim shook 
his head. The eyes of the crowd were on 
them. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stall" he declared 
thoughtfully, *but I can't take your script." 

“You can’t take it? What do you mean 
you can't take it?" 

“The terms of this sale are cash." 

“Cash?” Old Slick-ear’s face was pur- 
ple with rage. “Му script’s as good as 
cash! Any bank will take it. The gov- 
ernment recognizes it as legal tender.” 

The crowd had quickly sensed that 
something was amiss. They swarmed up 
the steps, the Bar S men alert and the 
others on guard. 

“You're not quite right about that. The 
government has accepted your script as 
legal tender, but it has never expressly rec- 
ognized it as such,” 

“Say, don’t be a damned fool, Mon- 
tana!” Reb Russell exclaimed angrily. 
“You know the Bar S script is as good as 
cash. We ain't goin’ to let you get away 
with any nonsense like that." 

Jim was wel! acquainted with the freckle- 
faced foreman of Furnace Creek. 

“Listen, Reb," he said, and his voice 
was velvety, “I got an awful idea you're 
trying to force my hand. If that's the 
case, you'd better forget it. You ought to 
know by this time that I don't bluff worth 
a cent. My business is with Mr. Stall— 
and it's almost finished." He turned to the 
old man again. “You insisted on the full 
letter of the law. Now it's my turn. I 
know your script is all right; but it isn't 
cash, and I refuse to accept it." 

A cheer arose from the Squaw Valley 
men. Even Quantrell dared to join in it. 

“Why, you young fool, I'll run you out 
of the country for this!" old Slick-ear 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 19 


reared. There's courts in this state that 
will protect me. I bought this land in good 
faith, and I want my rights.” 

“Youre getting your rights, the same аз 
any other man here.” 

“Well, give me ten minutes then. Ill 
make Longyear open the bank, He'll cash 
my scrip." 

"I won't give you one minute, Mr. 
Stall!” Montana answered unhesitantly. 
“Т told you upstairs I would do anything 
I could to keep you out of Squaw Valley. 
I meant it. e sale will go on!” 

“You idiot, youl” the old man trembled 
as though he had the palsy. “Do you real- 
ize what you’re doing?” 

“I think I do.” Jim answered tensely. 

«І don't think so! You talk about be- 
friending these people. I warn you you'll 
never do it way. The minute the 
courts recognize my rights in Squaw Val- 
ley, Pm moving in—and I’m moving in to 
stay! You're forcing a war to the finish 
on all of us!” 

“That may be,” Jim admitted. “God 
knows they’d rather go down fighting than 
wait for you to crush them.” Не picked 
up his yardstick again. “Тһе sale will con- 
tinue!” he cried. “Section one, the north- 
east quarter! What am I bid?” 

Joe Tracey, Judd Case and Reb gathered 
about the old man and Letty. 

“The sale won’t go on if you want it 
stopped,” Reb informed him. “We can 
stampede this crowd.” 

The old man was biting his mustache 
nervously. For once he seemed not to 
know his own mind. 

Father we're going!” Letty exclaimed. 
“І can’t stand any more of this!” She 
got her arm around his. Please 

“Might as well,” he decided grudgingly. 
«РП fight this in my own way. We'll let 
this smart aleck have his little party to- 
day.” 

If Montana noticed that the Bar S was 
leaving en masse, he gave no sign of it. 
The sale proceeded satisfactorily. Every- 
body seemed to get what they wanted, ex- 
сері Quantrell. Не had to be satisfied 
with half a loaf. But рав were cheap, 
the land good. They knew they’d never 
give it up without a struggle. 

Finding himself near a post-office, old 
Slick-ear had to tarry to write his usual 
stack of letters, included in which were his 
voluminous epistles to his foreman, appris- 
ing them when and where to meet him, or 


not to expect him at all, and going into 
the minutest details about a hundred things 
he expected them to take care of before he 
should next see them. 

By the time he had finished, he had so 
far recovered his temper as to suggest that 
they have dinner before starting their long 
ride back to the South Fork and Willow 
Vista. 

Letty had no desire for food, but to 
humor him, she accom him to the 
dining-room of the hatel. He ate as slow- 
ly and methodically as he did everything 
else. Busy with his thoughts, he kept his 
eyes on his plate as he munched his food, 
and said nothing. Letty was equally en- 
grossed in her own musing 

They had almost finished when he sur- 
prised her by saying: 

“Т made a mistake in not making Mon- 
tana a foreman last year. There wouldn't 
have been any of this nonsense today if 
І һай. But like as not he would have done 
something else just as foolish. A man that 
can't mind his own business isn't worth his 
salt. He certainly made a spectacle of him- 
self today, the contemptible ingrate!" 

“Not to me,” Letty murmured tremu- 
lously, her eyes fixed on the crowd mov- 
ing away from the court-house. “I—I 
thought he was magnificent.” 


CHAPTER V 
Backs то THE WALL 


ETS have made immortal the exile of 
the humble Acadian farmers from the 
homes and the land they loved. The 

Squaw Valley Piutes had no poet to sing 
their swan song. But their passing was 
hardly less tragic. For countless genera- 
tions they had waged incessant warfare 
against their natural enemies, the Bannocks 
and the Snakes, for the land of their 
fathers. They had even waged a long and 
losing fight against their white brothers. 
A remnant of a once proud race, they had 
consented to be herded together in Squaw 
Valley. Now even that last refuge had 
been taken from them. 

For fifty years a benign government had 
said in effect that one reservation was as 
good as another for an Indian. What dif- 
ference could it possibly make to him 
where he found himself? Fort Hall was a 
big reservation. Three hundred Piutes 
would not overcrowd it. Of course it was 
a Bannock reservation. But what of that? 


20 WESTERN ACTION 

Debauched, exploited, mute—perhaps it 
was strange that it could matter, that the 
blood hatred of a Piute for a Bannock still 
coursed through their veins. 

Old men and women, children—a troop 
of cavalry hurrying them along—they filed 
into Wild Horse, their worldly goods piled 
hit or miss on a long line of army wagons. 
in the truest sense, they all were children, 
with a child's eagerness to be amused. Ог- 
dinarily, a trip to Wild Horse would have 
been an adventure. But their eyes were 
dull today, their faces stolid. 

“Аіе-е-е, aiee," the old squaws wailed as 
they called on Nanibashoo, the god of their 
fathers, to help them. 

Little Boy, their tribal chief, a wrinkled 
and toothless old man, rode on the first 
wagon, proud and dignified, a chief even 
in his rags. 

*Aie-e-e," Montana echoed. Не sat 
alone with Graham Rand, the sheriff, in 
the latter’s tiny office. His face was stern. 
“They don’t savvy this at all,” he said. 
“When Little Boy saw me, I got his 
thought. They think I did this to them.” 

„They're crazy!” Тһе sheriff drew his 
shaggy brows down. “They never had a 
better friend. You're all Indian under the 
skin, Jim." 

There's two of us. I reckon you'd 
throw that star away in a hurry if they'd 
only give us back this country as it used 
to be before the barbed wire hit it." Mon- 
tana mused to himself for a moment. 
*Graham, I didn't see Thunder Bird in 
that bunch. Did you?" 

The marshal grinned, shook his head. 

«І helped him to get away, Jim. He's 
hiding out in the old Adelaide mine on 
Quantrel's ranch. Plenty Eagles asked 
me to do something; his father didn't want 
to leave the Malheurs. He'll have to lay 
low for a couple of weeks." 

*He's too old to work," Montana 
thought aloud. “Plenty Eagles will have to 
take care of him.” : 

“Т see that he does," Rand volunteered. 
“The old fellow's got grub enough to last 
ten days." He paused to refill his pipe. 
No need to tell you to say nothin’ about 
this over there," he went on presently. 
“What you aimin’ to do, Jim?” 

“Пт going to strike Dan Crockett for 
a job.” 

“Veah?” In the inflection of his voice 
there was deep understanding rather than 
surprise. “Gunnin’ for trouble, eh?” 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


“No, just hoping I can steady the boat 
a little. The old man won’t back up an 
inch, now that the courts have upheld him. 
He can do about as he pleases in that 
country, With Creiger and his deputies 
to help, he'll take possession of his water." 

“And when old Slick-ear puts on the 
pressure, something happens!" Graham 
summed up tersely. “The next thing he'll 
do wil be to move in enough men and 
stock to worry that Squaw Valley crowd 
into doin' somethin' foolish." 

J expect he's moved in already." Mon- 
tana's expression was as grave as his words. 
“Mr. Stall never wastes any time." 

That night he camped on Skull Creek, 
inside of the old reservation and several 
miles north of where the creek flows into 
the Malheur. 

Imagine a great inverted capital V with 
the Malheur Range forming the eastern 
line and the Junipers the western. Picture 
the Malheur River, rising in the Junipers 
and flowing to the north and east, so as 
to close the great triangle, and you have 
Squaw Valley, with the reservation occupy- 
ing the lower part of the triangle. To the 
north, extending into the mountains, you 
would find the eight and nine-thousand acre 
outfits that were fighting for existence. 

There were three creeks of major im- 
portance in the valley. From east to west: 
Skull Creek, Big Powder Creek and Owl 
Creek. Eventually, all found their way 
to the Malheur. 

Montana rolled his blankets at dawn. 
The valley was wide there, not less than 
twenty miles from range to range. The 
scene was a familiar one to him. Beyond 
the willows and aspens that choked the 
creek bottom, the native bluejoint grew 
high and green, even though the year was 
a dry one. Because sheep had never ranged 
there, no ugly patches of burr or broncho 
grass marred that blue-green expanse. 

At that hour, the rolling Junipers to the 


. west looked like great tufts of pink cotton. 


The Malheurs, nearer and more formidable, 
too, rose sheer and forbidding, varnished- 
green patches of mountain mahogany 
marking the spots where the snow lay 
late in the spring. 

Skull Creek purled over the rocks at 
Montana’s feet, as garrulous as an old 
woman, as he waited for the coffee to boil. 

“Just as sassy as usual,” he said. “Think 
you’d get tired, jawing away like that 
night and day.” 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 21 


He had not finished breakfast when he 
caught the sound of breaking brush up the 
creek. Presently, two mounted troopers 
rode into view. 

“Saw your smoke a long way off,” said 
one. We thought you might be the party 
we're lookin’ for. But God knows you 
ain’t an Injun.” 

From their conversation Jim surmised 
that they had made only a perfunctory 
search for Plenty Eagles’ father. He in- 
vited them to share his flapjacks, but they 
said no, 

“Goin’ back to McDermitt, the younger 
of the two explained. "Want to get 
started before the sun begins to climb.” 

After they had gone on, Montana sad- 
died his horse and followed the creek north. 
The afternoon was well along before he 
reached Dan Crockett’s Box C ranch. 


AN, together with his cousins, the 

Gaults and the Morrows, had been 
the first to run cattle in the upper valley. 
He was thrifty and a hard worker, as were 
his grown sons. Comparatively, he had 
done well, but the Box C was a far cry 
from any one of the big Bar S ranches. 

Dan was repairing a wagon-box as Mon- 
tana rode into the yard. 

“Hi, Jim!” he called out, surprised to 
see him there. What you all doin’ up this 
way? You still workin’ fer Uncle Sam?” 

“No, Гт paying my own wages now," 
Montana laughed as he slid from his sad- 
dle. “Апа that's a condition that's got to 
be corrected awful sudden, Dan.” 

Crockett’s habitually solemn face creased 
into a smile. : 

*Well, with all this war-talk in the air, 
there ain't no one I'd rather have around 
than you,” he said. “A top hand is worth 
fifty a month and cakes. I ain’t got no 
right to be treating myself to a luxury like 
that, but I reckon you're hired.” His 
smile flickered out. Things are goin’ to 
happen fast around here, Jim. In fact 
they begun to happen already. The Bar S 
moved in yesterday.” 

“Т reckoned they would," Montana ac- 
knowledged glumly. They drive some 
stock in?" 

*About five hundred head. They came 
in through the Malheurs írom Furnace 
Creek. They're on the Big Powder and 
the North Fork of the Skull. There's at 
least twenty Bar S men with Reb." 

*So Reb's going to represent for the old 


man, eh?" Montana shook his head slowly. 
“That ought to show you how things are 
drifting. If the old man wasn't looking 
for trouble he'd have given this job to Joe 
Tracey or Case—somebody who’d be 
awfully slow on the draw. Reb’s distinctly 
hair-trigger. . . . Did anything happen?" 

“Not so far as I know. It looked like 
trespassing to move across a man's range; 
but the sheriff was here, spoutin’ law. He 
says a man's got a right to move his stuff 
up to his own water. The boys let it go 
at that. Quantrell was there. He's a fire- 
eater; you know that. His talk sounded 
good to some, I reckon. But Dave Mor- 
row and Gault and me cooled them down." 

“Quantrell hasn't any judgment," Mon- 
tana declared bluntly. “Look out for him, 
Dan; he’s a trouble maker. The old man 
is going to give us every chance to overplay 
our hand. If we do, look out! He can 
move two hundred men in here. And the 
law will ride with ’em, 'cause he can depu- 
tize every one of them!” 

“І know it," Dan nodded. “You ain't 
paintin’ it any blacker than it is. With 
Furnace Creek on the east and Willow 
Vista to the southwest, he can squeeze us 
on two sides—and he will, Jim. I reckon 
until last week he didn't have a thousand 
acres in the valley—and that was cut up 
into four pieces. He's got more now." 

“Where’d he get it?" Montana asked 
uneasily. 

Dan squatted on his toes and began to 
draw a map on the ground. 

“You can see the old Adelaide mine 
from here,” he explained. Quantrell's line 
goes north of there about two miles.” He 
indicated it with his stick. “From there, 
right through the Junipers to the Willow 
Vista line, was Eph Mellon’s range. 
You follow me, Montana?” 

“Yes. And—?” 

Dan tossed away his stick and stood up. 

“Eph sold out to the Bar S on Monday,” 
he muttered gloomily. “Old Slick-ear’s line 
is now right here in the valley. He's driven 
a wedge right into the middle of us—and 
you'll see plenty Bar S steers in here before 
you git your hair cut ag’in.” 

Montana did not try to hide his vexa- 
tion. By advancing the boundary line of 
Willow Vista into the very heart of Squaw 
Valley, the Bar S had scored a tactical vic- 
tory that strengthened their stand immeas- 
urably. Не could appreciate the fortitude 
it took to face the future calmly. 


22 WESTERN ACTION 

Gene and Brent Crockett, Dan’s sons, 
narrow-hipped six-footers, rode in half an 
hour later. Both were taciturn, in the way 
of the Mountain breed. If they were sur- 
prised to see Montana, they dissembled 
it. 

“The boys have been movin’ some of 
our stuff onto our new range in the reserva- 
tion," Dan explained. Without the North 
Fork water I can't keep 'em up here no 
longer. Course I’m better off than some 
folks. I had some water rights of my own 
that the Bar S couldn't grab. But you 
know how range cattle are, Jim. They get 
used to waterin' in one place and they'll 
go back to it in spite of hell. That's where 
the rub is goin' to come. I suggested to 
Reb that we put up a line fence and each 
pay half of the cost." 

*[ don't suppose that interested him," 
Montana volunteered. “That’s not the 
Bar S game." 

*No, he wouldn't lissen at all. Said he'd 
keep his stuff on his own range and we'd 
have to do the same." 

“Darin’ us, that’s all!” Gene Crockett 
muttered bitterly. He was the younger of 
the two boys. “It’s a fine law that lets 
an outfit rob you like that! That water 
was our’n. Mebbe old man Stall saw it 
fore Pap did. That didn't. make it his 
if he didn't use it. We ain't no better off 
than we was fore they opened up the 
reservation. Now we got water in one 
place and range in another, and nothin' 
short o' God a'mighty can make a steer eat 
one place and drink another." 

“No use losin’ you haid about it," his 
father protested. “We got to go easy and 
figure this thing out.” 

“Tt’s all right to talk about takin’ things 
easy, Pap,” the other boy declared soberly, 
“but Gene’s right; you can’t swallow every- 
thin’ they hand you and pretend to like it. 
I hazed a cow and her calf out of the 
North Fork bottoms for over an hour this 
morning. Like as not she’s back there 
right now. That's what the Bar S wants. 
'They'll catch our stuff trespassing and 
using their water. Lawsuits will be slapped 
on us till we're busted. Then we can git 
out." 

“You said it!" Gene agreed. “Clay 
Quantrell’s got the right idea. If we're 
goin’ to git licked anyhow, let's git licked 
fightin’! Why wait ’til we’re helpless?” 

Montana had known the boys for years. 
Their bitterness was no surprise, but he 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


had expected them to be long-suffering 
rather than rash under the first prod of 
the Bar S. Their talk sounded reckless. 
Since Quantrell’s name had come into the 
conversation, Montana thought he had the 
explanation. 

“That’s brave talk, Gene,” he said, “but 
I’m afraid it won’t get us anywhere. We 
can’t shoot this thing out and win. If we 
want to beat that bunch we've got to out- 
smart them." 

The boys were not impressed with his 
logic, but their father agreed with him. 

“There can’t be any doubt of it,” he 
said with great deliberation. "Spillin' a lot 
of blood won't settle this at all. The first 
thing we got to do is get organized. We're 
goin’ to have a meetin’ here towards 
evenin’. I reckon most of the folks will 
come.” He glanced at the westering sun. 
“Gene will take you over to the house and 
show you where to drop your war-bag. 
We'll have supper before the crowd comes." 


CHAPTER VI 
TRAcEDY RipEs THE RANGE 


N addition to his sons, Dan had two 
men on the ranch—Romero, the Mex- 
ican, and Ben Vining, an old-time 

buckaroo from Nevada. They ate together 
in the ranch kitchen, Mrs. Crockett doing 
the cooking. 

Eating was a solemn rite that seemed to 
dry up the wells of conversation. 

Before they had finished, people began 
to arrive. With one or two exceptions they 
were all related to the Crocketts. 

“One or two others to come yet," Dan 
told them. We'll wait a few minutes." 

Quantrell was the last to arrive. He gave 
Jim a curt nod. His displeasure was evi- 
dent on learning that Montana had in- 
jected himself into the fight and was now 
riding for the Box C. He had an excuse 
for his tardiness. Jim thought his horse 
looked as though it had been ridden hard. 

The meeting got under way at last. 
The day had been one to try tempers. A 
dozen men recounted their verbal clashes 
with Reb and his men. All agreed that 
they must stand together. 

Dan Crockett spoke at length, advising 
them to be patient and stay within the 
law. They listened, but there was no en- 
thusiasm for what he had to say. 

Quantrell spoke, fanning their hatred of 
the Bar S. 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 23 


“The law’s too one-sided for me!” he 
bellowed. “Тһе other fellow’s got it all! 
We got to take care of this in our own way 
—without the help of any outsiders!” 

Evidently it was what they wanted to 
hear, for they cheered him when he fin- 
ished. Montana knew this reference to 
outsiders was directed at him. He couldn’t 
escape the feeling that the fight was re- 
solving itself into a personal one between 
Quantrell and himself. His face was stern 
and uncompromising as he arose and faced 
them. 

“T want to remind you men that when 
anybody labels me an outsider that you 
consider the facts,” he began, “I saw this 
trouble coming long before any of you gave 
it a thought. If Henry Stall had got the 
reservation—where would you be now?" 

"We'd be on our way out!” Dan ex- 
claimed courageously. There ain't a man 
here but has to thank you for what you 
did, Montana." 

There was muttered approval of this, in 
which Quantrell did not join. He leaned 
on the corral gate with sullen defiance in 
his eyes. 

“Well, if I was with you then, I’m with 
you now,” Montana continued. “And I’m 
with you all the way. Loose talk almost 
cost you the reservation—the same sort of 
talk refers to me now as an outsider.” 
His eyes were fixed on Quantrell. A sneer 
curled the big fellow’s mouth. “You’ve 
been told that the law was all on the other 
fellow’s side. It’s true. And it’s the best 
reason I know for staying clear of it. 
You've got your homes here. You've got 
to think of your wives and children. Blood 
won’t help them.” 

He paused to let the effect of his words 
sink in. 

“This fight has just begun, and yet, your 
patience is gone already. You can’t win 
that way! My God, men, where is the 
iron in you? You haven’t lost yet! Don’t 
let yourselves be stampeded into taking 
the law into your own hands!” 

Lance Morrow stepped into the cleared 
space in front of Jim. He was a little 
bandy-legged man, nearing seventy, and 
the father of five strapping sons. 

Montana, I was nursed on a rifle. I've 
lived with one all my life, but I was taught 
never to take hit down unless I couldn’t git 
justice no other way. I don’t want to take 
hit down now. My boys feel as I do about 
hit. But what are we agoin’ to do, Mon- 


tana? Man to man, what hope have we 
got?” 

The old man had put it concretely. That 
was what they all wanted to know; what 
hope did they have? They waited anx- 
iously for Montana to answer. 

Jim refused to he hurried. 

“Well,” he said at last, “I never knew 
Henry Stall to send bad dollars after good 
ones when time had proved that he had a 
losing proposition on his hands. If you 
stand pat and stick together, you can beat 
him. He can't consolidate his water unless 
some one of you sells him land. The man 
who lets bim have one acre is a traitor 
to you all!” 

“A steer needs grass as well as water. 
It’s going to cost the Bar S a lot of money 
to keep moving their stuff. It won’t put 
any fat on a yearling, And don’t forget, 
they can’t keep on driving cattle across 
your range. That’s been threshed out in 
this country before. The shoe is pinching 
you now, but it will be the other way 
around before snow flies." 

His logic swayed the majority of them. 
They effected an organization of a sort 
under Dan Crockett’s leadership and 
agreed to act together. Even Quantrell con- 
sented to the arrangement. His ent 
change of face did not fool Montana. He 
knew the man was dangerous. 

The sun had set before they finished, 
but no one seemed in a hurry to leave. Jim 
was talking to Dan and old Lance Morrow 
when young Gene sounded a warning. 

“Somebody comin’!” he called out. 

Montana looked up to see four horse- 
men fording the creek. Once across, they 
rode up at a hard gallop. Hands strayed 
toward guns in the waiting crowd. The 
oncoming men were either part of the Bar S 
bunch or strangers, and with things as they 
stood, a stranger was more apt to be an 
enemy than a friend. 

Montana shared the tenseness of the 
others. A moment later he recognized Reb 
Russell. Instinctively, the crowd had lined 
up to face the newcomers. Reb pulled 
his horse up sharply fifty yards from them 
and slid to the ground. Without a word 
to his men, he stalked across the inter- 
vening space, a mad fury on him. 

Dan stepped out to face him. 

Vou've come far enough, Reb! I ad- 
vise you to get back in your saddle and 
fan it out of here!” 

A dozen guns were trained on him, but 


24 WESTERN ACTION 


Reb came on until only ten yards sepa- 
rated them, 

“You won’t shoot while I’m facing yuh,” 
‘he snarled. “You'll wait until I’m lookin’ 
the other way for that.” He saw Montana 
then. “So you're here, eh? I never 
thought you'd get down to herdin’ with 
a bunch that would pot a man in the back." 

Foolishly brave, he walked up and down 
the line, meeting them eye to eye with a 
sneer on his lips. 

“Come on!” he burst out fiercely. 
“Which one of you potted that boy?” 


HE surprise his words occasioned 

caused the crowd to fall back. Men 
turned to their neighbors for an explana- 
tion. Dan and Montana exchanged an un- 
easy glance, sensing that the thing they had 
feared and hoped to avoid had already 
happened. 

“Reb, Vil talk for our side,” Dan an- 
nounced. “I told you yesterday I didn’t 
want any trouble. If it’s come, І want 
to know about it. What’s happened?” 

Reb tried to glare a hole through him 
before he answered. 

“Picked up one of our boys west of here 
at the forks on Powder Creek about an 
hour ago. He was dead when we found 
him.. . . Been shot in the back! Some 
skunk got him from the rimrocks!” 

Montana groaned. “Who was it, Reb?” 

“The kid.” 

“Billy?” 
emotion. 

*Yeah—Billy Sauls, your old buddy. 
You don’t have to look so white about it. 
You're on the other side of the fence, ain't 
yuh?” 

Montana let the taunt go unrebuked. 
For the moment he was speechless. Тһе 
crowd was stunned, too, by the news that 
a Bar S man had been slain. All their de- 
liberations had come to naught, for beyond 
doubt the boy had been killed by someone 
opposed to the Bar S. Being the sons and 
grandsons of feudists, they knew that only 
blood could atone for biood. 

Old Lance questioned his sons. Dan tried 
to read the souls of his boys. Brothers 
looked at each other with suspicion. 

“Hits natural to suppose somebody on 
our side done hit, said Lance, “but mebbe 
hit ain’t so. Mebbe that boy had a per- 
sonal quarrel with someone.” 

“П say he did!" Reb thundered. “With 
a hombre that filled four of our yearlin’s 


Jim's voice betrayed his 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


full of lead from the same gun that killed 
him! You can't crawl out of it! One of 
your pack got him!" 

*Men, listen to me!" It was Montana. 
He had jumped up on the wagon-box Dan 
had been repairing. His voice was charged 
with a deadly calmness that was more ar- 
resting than all of Reb's vituperation. 
*Vou know I'm an old Bar S man. I 
always found it a good outfit to work for; 
but I won't take wages from a man who’ll 
grind his neighbors under his heel and bring 
misery and poverty to women and children 
for no better reason than that he can make 
a few more dollars. All I said here this 
evening still goes. I'm with you to the 
finish. This killing hasn't changed that at 
all. But I don't believe you approve of 
shooting men in the back. God knows 
Billy Sauls never fought that way. I don't 
know who got him, but I aim to find out!" 

“You needn't bother," Reb rasped scorn- 
fully. We'll take care of that! There's 
no need of any more palaverin’. Don't 
let me catch any of you above the North 
Fork after to-night!" 

Without another word, he turned and 
stalked back to his horse. The light was 
failing fast. In a few seconds he and his 
men were only moving gray smudges bob- 
bing over the sage. 

*'There'll be hell to pay now,” old Lance 
muttered prophetically. Talkin' won't do 
no good." 

Montana was not listening. He was 
staring at Quantrell. The longer he stared 
the more certain he became that the big 
fellow was aware of his scrutiny and was 
purposely avoiding his eyes. 

“He’s a tin-horn, and a tin-horn did this 
job.“ Montana could not put the thought 
away. Quantrell had been the last to ar- 
rive. His horse had looked winded. 

From where he stood, Jim could see the 
animal. Even now it looked weary, head 
drooping. The muzzle of a rifle peeped 
out of a saddle scabbard. 

That rifle suddenly became of absorb- 
ing interest to Montana. 

I'm going to have a look at that gun 
before he pulls out of here,” he promised 
himself, “If what I’m thinking is correct, 
it'll be dirty. He'd hardly have stopped to 
clean it.” 

Montana changed his position, moving 
about without apparent purpose, talking to 
this man and that, but gradually maneuver- 
ing so as to bring him nearer to Quantrell's 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 25 


horse. And now he was certain that Quan- 
trell was watching him. 

The big fellow had broken off his con- 
versation with Brent Crockett. If Montana 
took a step toward the horse, so did Quan- 
trell. It became a game, 

“Well, if it’s a showdown, let's get it 
over with,” Jim muttered to himself. 
Throwing caution to the winds, he strode 
up to the horse, Quantrell was only a step 
behind him. It gave Jim time enough to 
insert the tip of his little finger into the 
rifle barrel. Quantrell caught him by the 
wrist as he started to bring his hand away. 

“What in hell are you snoopin’ around 
here for?” he snarled under his breath. His 
eyes were cold and fishy. “It ain’t healthy 
to handle my stuff!” 

“You might get a disease or something,” 
Montana taunted. He was armed. His 
left hand had closed over his gun. “Folks 
are beginning to look this way. If you 
want an audience, you can get one in a 
hurry. Let go of that wrist or I'll do a 
little irrigating on you!” 

Quantrell hung on, trying to save his 
face. He laughed unpleasantly then. 
*What's the idea? What are you tryin’ to 
pin on me?" he demanded as he dropped 
Jim's hand. 

“I guess you get my drift. You were 
the last to get here. You're rifle's dirty—" 

“What of it? That gun ain't been out 
of the scabbard since yesterday mornin' 
when I killed a coyote. It’s gettin’ so you 
got your nose in everywhere—and you're 
wrong as usual. Why should I bump that 
kid off? He didn’t mean anythin’ to me.” 

“No?” Montana ground out between 
clenched jaws. “Let me tell you this, Clay 
—if I ever prove what I’m thinking I'll 
make that kid mean plenty to you. This 
happens to be something I aim to re- 
member!” 


CHAPTER VII 
FLAMING SKIES 


ONG after the crowd had gone, Dan 
and Montana sat on the long bench 
beside the kitchen door. A candle 
flickered in the window of the log cabin 
beyond the barns that old Ben and Romero 
used as a bunkhouse. A gust of wind 
shook the tall poplars in the yard. The 
stars gleamed frostily. 
*Goin' to blow to-night," said Dan. 
„Cloudbank off to the northwest." 


Jim nodded. Even in July, windstorms 
were not unusual in that altitude. His 
thoughts were of Billy Sauls, the boy who 
had been killed. 

From the cabin came a snatch of song: 


*We rode the range together and had 
rode it side by side; 

I loved him like & brother, I wept 
‘when Utah died 


It was old Ben, singing “Utah Carroll.” 
His singing was lugubrious enough at any 
time, but to-night he seemed to hang onto 
every cracked note, as if loath to let them 
go. He was a lawless old Juniper to whom 
strife of any kind was welcome. His song 
drew a shiver from Montana. 

“To shoot a man in the back and not 
give him a chance is nothing short of mur- 
der," he said. 

*No two ways about that," Dan mut- 
tered glumly. “I guess it comes pretty 
hard to you, Jim. God knows it jest as 
well could have been Brent or Gene." 

*You got any idea who did it, Dan?" 

“No, I ain't!“ Не was speaking the 
truth. “It wasn't my boys, I know. It 
puts you in a mean place. A friend of 
yourn gits killed. Naturally you want to 
know who done it. But mebbe it'll be bet- 
ter if you never find out. It's war to the 
finish now, and a man's either for you or 
agin’ you. This boy was on the other 
side. I ain't approvin’ of killin’ of that 
sort; but it looks like one of our side must'a 
got him; least we'll be blamed for it. And 
right or wrong, we cain't go gunnin' for the 
party that's responsible. It's goin' to be 
taken as a defy from us—and Jim, we got 
to back it up!” 

“T reckon we do," Montana had to agree. 
“You’ve stated the case exactly.” 

They fell silent for a while. Dan puffed 
his pipe thoughtfully. Gene and Brent 
came out and sat down with them. A 
subtie change had taken place in their atti- 
tude toward Montana. It was nothing 
less than that they felt themselves under 
suspicion. Unconsciously, Montana's man- 
ner was restrained, too. 

«І don’t like to say it," Dan declared 
gravely, “but it’s a time for plain speakin’. 
Mebbe you feel you cain’t go all the way 
with us now. We need you, Jim, but if 
you want to pull out—now’s the time to 
do it.” 

No, I'm staying," Montana answered 


mu 


26 WESTERN ACTION 


with great deliberation. “I came into this 
fight because 1 thought you folks were get- 
ting a pretty raw deal. I reckon I'll see 
it through." 

The boys had little to say. The tumble- 
weeds began to bounce across the yard be- 
fore the rising wind. 

Gettin' dusty out here, Dan an- 
nounced. He knocked the dottle from his 
pipe. “Might as well turn in, I guess.” 

Jim closed his eyes, but sleep would not 
come. He was too busily turning over in 
his mind what answer the Bar S would 
make to the tragedy on Powder Creek. 
He surmised that Reb was undoubtedly 
under orders to make a pretense of staying 
inside the law. 

“But he'll strike back, and he'll hit 
hard," he told himself. 

It was almost midnight when he sat up 
to find his watch. The wind was blowing 


a gale. 

Who's that?" Gene demanded fiercely. 

“Just looking for my watch,” Jim ex- 
plained. Can't get to sleep.” 

He paused to glance out the window. 
The sky was red to the north. A gasp 
of surprise was wrung from him. 


“Gene, come here!” һе whispered. 
“Look at that!” 

“Tt’s a fire, all right!” the boy cried. 
“Hey, Pap! Brent!” 


Half a minute later the four of them 
rushed from the house, pulling on their 
clothes. 

It's Dave Morrow’s place!” Brent ex- 
claimed excitedly. 

“No, it ain’t the house,” his father ar- 
gued. “Тоо many sparks for that. It’s 
Dave’s hay! By God, it didn’t take the 
devils long to strike back, did it?” 

“And you thought they wouldn’t do any- 
thin’ like that!” 

It was young Gene. 
hostility. 

“Some of us better ride over there,” he 
suggested. “It can’t be two miles.” 

“You and Gene go," said Dan. "We'll 
keep a lookout here. I’ve only got about 
eighty tons of hay put up. I'll never be 
able to winter my stuff if I lose it!” 

Scarcely a word passed between the boy 
and Jim as they rode. Each appeared to 
prefer his own thoughts. Montana had 
no reason to doubt that the fire was a Bar S 
reprisal. It thoroughly discredited his pre- 
diction, as Gene had already remarked. 

When still some distance away from the 


Jim sensed his 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


blaze they saw it was Dave's hay. А num- 
ber of others had come hurriedly. There 
was nothing anyone could do. 

Most of those who had gathered there 
were young men or boys like Gene. Their 
talk was rife with threats of revenge and 
hatred. 

The older heads had many opinions to 
offer about the route the raiders had taken, 
how many were in the party and what 
should be done in retaliation. Nobody 
bothered to ask Montana what he thought. 

Dave, himself, tried to regard his loss 
philosophically. 

“Better the hay than the house with half 
a dozen young-uns in it,” he declared 
stoically. “I jest happen to be the first 
to git it, thet's all. They'll put the torch 
to more than mine." 

“God a'mighty, man, you're right!” Joe 
Gault cried. “If they ain't another fire 
this minute over towards Jubal Stark's 
place I'm losin' the eyesight the Lord gave 
me! Turn yer back to the blaze and 
shield yer eyes!" 

“And it ain't no hay this time!” Morrow 
shouted. It's Jubal’s house!“ 

An angry roar burst from the crowd. 
The burning hay was forgotten. Sanity 
had fled. In their present mood they would 
have torn old Slick-ear limb from limb. 

Montana looked around for Gene. The 
boy had raced away already. In another 
minute all were raking their horses as they 
headed for the house on Powder Creek. 


URNITURE and bedding had been 

carried out by the time they arrived. 
Jim tried to organize a bucket brigade— 
the creek was near—but the high wind 
soon convinced him that the effort was 
useless. Indeed, they were fortunate to 
save the barn and corrals, 

It was breaking day by the time the 
fire died down. Quantrell had not put in 
an appearance, although the blaze could 
have been noticed from his place. 

Jim said nothing, nor did he think it par- 
ticularly strange. Things had come to a 
pass where every man was for himself. The 
thing he couldn't understand was the 
strategy of the raiders in setting a second 
fire deeper into the enemy's country after 
the first fire had been discovered. 


“You’d think they would have run inte > 


someone with half the valley up," he 
mused, 
And yet, their strategy seemed to have 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 27 


worked. Certainly they had made a clean 
get-away. | 

Dan was waiting for him when he re- 
turned to the Box C. Jim mentioned the 
matter to him. 

“Pm going to catch an hour’s sleep and 
then try to back track them,” he said. 
“We got to know how they’re coming down 
from the North Fork. We'll be ready for 
them when they come again." 

By this arrangement, he left the ranch 
in the early morning and made his way 
over the rolling hills to Morrow's ranch. 
So many men had ridden over the ground 
during the night that it was impossible to 
pick up any sign that meant anything. 

From there he shaped his course west- 
уғата toward the smoking ruins on Powder 
Creek, keeping to the hills as a man might 
have done who was anxious to avoid be- 
ing encountered. Once, where a spring 
drained away toward the creek, he found 
where a shod horse had crossed. The marks 
were fresh enough to have been made dur- 
ing the night. The horse had been walked 
across the wet ground. 

"Certainly wasn't made by anyone rush- 
ing to the fire," Jim decided. 

It was no effort for him to follow the 
trail to within a few hundred yards of 
the house. 

'The Starks had moved their belongings 
into the barn. Old Jubal was poking about 
the smoldering ruins, One or two others 
were there. Jim said nothing about the 
reason for his presence. Ten minutes later 
he headed west and crossed the Big 
Powder. 

Once out of sight of the house, he crossed 
and recrossed the creek many times, hop- 
ing to pick up the trail he had followed to 
Jubal’s place. 

He covered a mile without finding it. 
The creek began to climb toward the canon. 
1f anyone had gone up the Big Powder 
-they must of necessity have passed through 
the forge. 

There, on the smooth sand, he found 
what he was looking for, but to his sur- 
prise, the tracks turned west instead of 
north toward the Bar S line as he expected. 

He couldn't understand it. 

“A man trying to get back to the North 
Fork wouldn't be heading west," he argued 
with himself. “First thing he knew he'd 
have the cafion of the Little Powder be- 
tween him and where he was going." 

Nevertheless, Montana followed the 


tracks, losing and finding them repeatedly 
as the trail climbed. Presently he was 
able to look down on Squaw Valley and 
trace the pattern of its many creeks. He 
could see the Big Powder, heading toward 
the hills to the north. Facing him was 
the black cafion through which the Little 
Powder flowed for over a mile. To the 
west he located Quantrell’s ranch-house, 
and perched in the hills above it, the old 
Adelaide mine, the tailings a great yellow 
scar in the sage-brush. 

There were no fences or marks to say 
where one man’s ranch ended and another’s 
began. Billy Sauls had been killed at the 
forks of the Big and Little Powder. Joe 
Gault claimed everything as far north as 
the cafion’s rim. From that, Montana knew 
he was not yet on Quantrell's ránge. 

“ІШ follow these tracks wherever they 
take me," he thought, the conviction deep- 
ening in him that they were leading him 
either across the big fellow's range or to 
his house itself. And one answer is as 
dumb as the other," he grumbled. “Quan- 
trell wouldn’t draw the line at burning a 
man out if he stood to make a dollar by 
it, if I got him figured out at all. But 
this doesn’t make sense. And I can’t be- 
lieve Reb would send a man all these God- 
awful miles out of his way to get back to 
safety when he could cover him all the 
way up the Big Powder.” 

The climb became steeper. At last, he 
stood on the plateau that stretched away 
to the cafion rim. It was bare, save for 
a little dwarf sage. In fifty yards he lost 
the trail. Try as he would, he could not 
relocate it. The wind of the night before 
had scoured the high places clean. 

“That stops me," he muttered reluc- 
tantly. “I might have figured something 
of the sort would happen.” 

The sun had climbed high. He got down 
from his saddle and squatted on his toes 
in the shade of his horse as he rolled a 
cigarette. A frown furrowed his brow as 
he smoked. 

“Funny, losing the trail here within a 
mile of where Billy got washed out. Maybe 
it’s a coincidence—and maybe it isn’t.” 

He had left the Box C with the secret 
intention of visiting the spot where the 
boy had been killed, in the hope that he 
might find some clue. It was stil! his chief 
purpose, and when he had finished his 
cigarette, he turned north toward the forks, 
following the rimrocks. Three hundred 


28 WESTERN ACTION 
feet below him, the Little Powder broke 
white over its boulder-strewn course. 


T was impossible to get a horse down 
to the floor of the cañon from the side 
on which he found himself. Half an hour 
later he reached the forks. He was look- 
ing down on the tops of a grove of aspens, 
A green park showed among them. 

“I guess that’s where they got him," he 
thought. “Laid up here on the rimrocks 
and picked him off." 

On hands and knees, he crawled back 
and forth, trying to find an empty shell 
or any other tell-tale sign that might aid. 

It was a futile search. Undaunted, he 
began the dangerous descent into the 
cation. The dead yearlings lay where they 
had fallen. Beyond them he located the 
spot where the Bar S had found Billy's 
body. The tender sweet-grass and wild 
timothy had been beaten down by their 
horses. 

. It was no more than he had expected. 
Reb had been very positive that the bullet 
had sped to its mark from the rimrocks. 
The wound should have left no doubt about 
that. On the other hand, the bottom was 
so choked with brush and cover that a 
man could have crept to within forty yards 
of the little park without being discovered. 

Montana was still pondering the ques- 
tion when he sensed that he was being 


watched. Someone was hiding in the as- 


pens behind him. 

He felt his blood thin. He was a fair 
target where he stood. Whoever was stalk- 
ing him could not miss at that distance, 
even if he succeeded in throwing himself 
to the ground before the other fired. Wis- 
dom whispered that it would be suicide to 
reach for his guns if someone had him 
covered. 

He listened without seeming to. It was 
still again—ominously still. Suddenly his 
jaws locked and his body tensed. As 
though on springs, he leaped into the 
air and whirled. When he came down his 
guns were in his hands. 

It came so unexpectedly that it caught 
the man in the aspens off guard. Too 
late he tried to draw back behind a tree 
trunk. Montana caught the movement. 

“Freeze or PH bust you!" he cried. 
*Now stick 'em up and come out of there!" 

The man raised his hands. 

To Jim's amazement, Plenty Eagles, the 
Piute, stepped into view. 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


CHAPTER VIII 
WHEN TRACKS SPELL FRIEND OR DEATH 


ONTANA felt a little foolish. He 
had leaped to the conclusion that he 
had either walked into a Bar S trap 

or been followed by Quantrell. To find 
Plenty Eagles facing him was a distinct 
surprise. The Piute wasn’t even armed. 
Jim told him to take his hands down. 

*Where's your rifle?" Montana de- 
manded. 

Plenty Eagles jerked a thumb over his 
shoulder. Back there with horse.” Не 
seemed harmless enough, even frightened. 
All of his belligerency of that day in Wild 
Horse was gone. 

“How long have you been here?” 

“Waiting here mebbe half hour—mebbe 
hour.” 

“Oh—! So you saw me come in, eh?” 

Plenty Eagles nodded. Finding him 
there, it was perhaps only natural for Mon- 
tana to wonder if he had had anything to 
do with rubbing out young Billy. There 
was a number of non-reservation Indians 
in that country. That their resentment 
over having their people removed from 
Squaw Valley had led them to take a hand 
in the strife was something he had not 
considered until now. If such was the 
case, they would be arrayed against both 
factions. 

Jim thought, “It would have been just 
as easy for him to have crept upon Billy 
as he did on me, He could have set the 
fires, too. One man did it.” 

He began to question the Indian, but 
at the end of half an hour he was as much 
at sea as ever. Plenty Eagles insisted that 
he had had nothing to do with either the 
fires or the death of the boy. He claimed 
he had driven one of Quantrell’s mule 
teams from Wild Horse north to Cisco and 
delivered it to the man who had purchased 
the freighting outfit. Cisco was situated 
on a branch line of the O. R. and N. that 
tapped the mining country around Iron 
Point in the Malheurs. . In the old days, 
when the Adelaide mine had been a big 
producer, the owners had shipped their 
ore out via the Point and Cisco. Plenty 
Eagles said he had come in that way. 

“What’s your business here?” Montana 
hazarded. 

Plenty Eagles became less tractable. 
“Not can say," he muttered. “Good friend 
of yours tell me say nothing." 


GUARDIANS 


“Yeah?” Jim queried  sceptically. 
“Who?” 
“Graham Rand.” 


“Oh!” Light was beginning to break on 
Montana. “Did he tell you my heart is 
good toward you and your father?” 

“Say you my friend. Not thinking you 
send my people away any more. Not 
thinking your tongue is crooked.” 

It was said with simple dignity. 

“I had a long talk with the marshal,” 
Jim informed him. “The soldiers have 
gone now. Thunder Bird doesn’t have to 
hide in the mine any longer.” 

The knowledge that Jim knew about his 
father won Plenty Eagles’ complete con- 
fidence. “Can tell you now why am here,” 
he said. “Bringing blankets and food for 
him. Buying them in Cisco.” 

Jim found it difficult not to believe him. 
He asked to see his horse and pack. Plenty 
Eagles led him up the Big Powder. The 
blankets were still wrapped in the paper 
used by the Golden Rule Store in Cisco. 
Inside the bundle was the dated cash sales 
tag. It was a perfect alibi. Plenty Eagles 
could not have been in the valley before 
daylight that morning. 

“Your tongue is straight, Cola," said 
Jim. “I greet you as a brother. But 
there is war here now. Men are quick to 
suspect one another. Some would even 
accuse you of the things they do them- 
selves. If it comes to thdt, nobody will 
believe you. The thing for you to do is to 
take your father up into the high places. 
There is an old cabin below the Needles. 
He'll be safe up there. You know where 
I mean—above the mine?” 

Plenty Eagles signed that he understood. 

“Sometimes cold up there. So old man 
not hurting anybody,” he argued. 

It took some patience on Montana’s part 
to convince him of the wisdom of what 
he was suggesting. Thunder Bird had 
promised to meet the boy there that morn- 
ing. It was past noon now. 

“Nothing happening to him, eh?” Plenty 
Eagles asked. 

“Не doesn't know the soldiers have gone. 
I reckon he’s afraid to leave the mine be- 
fore evening.” Montana turned things over 
in his mind for a moment. “Maybe T'd 
better ride up to the mine and get your 
father,” he said then. “If you'll follow 
the creek through the gorge, you'll pick up 
my trail. Just stay with it until you get on 
top. I'll climb out of here and go on 


OF THE SAGE 29 
ahead. You wait for us above. Reckon 
you'll see us coming back about the time 
you get there.” 

With one or two exceptions, Plenty 
Eagles had no reason to regard his white 
brothers with anything other than hatred 
and suspicion. Jim’s concern over his 
father touched him. 

“All the time be thinking of this, Mon- 
tana,” he said. “Never forgetting me.” 

It took Jim the better part of an hour 
to climb out of the cafion. In crossing 
Quantrell’s range he knew he was inviting 
trouble. It caused him no misgiving. After 
the Little Powder came out of the caüon 
he proposed keeping it between himself and 
the house until he was abreast the mine. 
If he ran into Quantrell or his men by 
chance, old Thunder Bird would be excuse 
enough for his presence there. 

He was approximately half a mile above 
Quantrell's house when he crossed the Little 
Powder. Cattle grazed on the hills, but 
he failed to catch sight of a human being. 
The country in general was swelling upward 
toward the Junipers to the west. The 
mine was located well up toward the head 
of a precipitous side cañon. 

The old Adelaide had been a big pro- 
ducer for many years, until water had 
flooded the lower levels. No sign remained 
of the old camp, but the wood-road, over 
which tons of timber had been snaked 
down for shoring, was still serviceable. 
Montana turned into it and followed it 
around the hill. 

Presently he was moving up the little 
side cafion. Someone, Quantrell possibly, 
had built a plank fence across it just below 
the mouth of the mine, evidently to keep 
cattle from straying into its several miles 
of tunnels and driftings. 

He had almost reached the fence when 
he was surprised to see a little string of 
saddled horses standing in a pocket off 
to the right of the gate. 

“That’s queer,” he thought. He looked 
again and recognized the horse Quantrell 
had ridden the previous evening. It caused 
him some uneasiness. “Got his whole 
bunch up here.” 


E couldn’t understand what business 
they could have there, unless it in 

some way concerned the old Indian. 
“Sure looks like I rode into a jackpot this 
time,” he muttered warily. It was too 
late to turn back. He knew if he hadn’t 


30 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


been seen already he would be before he 
could get out of sight. 

Every sense alert, he slipped out of his 
saddle, and dropping his rein over his 
horse’s head, walked up to the fence. It 
was head high. Through the spaces be- 
tween the planks he could command a view 
of the entrance to the mine. 

He had been watching only a minute or 
two when he caught the sound of voices. 
He thought he recognized Quantrell’s surly 
drawl. A moment later, seven men stepped 
out of the mine. Quantrell was in the lead. 
He had old Thunder Bird by the shoulder 
and was hustling him along. Suddenly he 
gave the old Indian a shove that sent him 
headlong into the dust. 

“Now clear out of here and don’t come 
back!” Quantrell raged. To give emphasis 
to his command, he used his boot on the 
Indian. 

It made Montana’s fingers itch to let 
him have it. The odds were seven to one 
against him. And it was a hard-bitten 
crew that Quantrell had assembled. All 
were strangers to Montana, but by the look 
of them they were well-acquainted with 
the business end of a .45. Jim was fast 
himself. 

“I don’t figure to have a chance that 
way,” he thought. “I'll have to talk my- 
self out of this.” 

Thunder Bird dragged himself to his 
feet slowly. A trickle of blood stained his 
seamed cheek. Quantrell’s foot went back 
to give him a kick that would hurry him 
u 


p. 

“Wait a minute, Clay!” Montana called 
out. “You'll scare him to death.” His tone 
was bantering. 

It was a startling interruption that made 
them reach for their guns. It was a mo- 
ment before they located Jim. 

*What's the idea?” Quantrell whipped 
out fiercely. “What business you got 
here?” 

“Well, if you boys will put away your 
hardware," Jim laughed, “ГІ climb over 
the fence and tell you. I got some news 
for you, Clay.” He was thinking fast. 

“АП right, come on over," the big fel- 
low grumbled suspiciously, 

Jim perched himself on top of the fence 
and rolled a cigarette calmly. 

Jet's have it!” Quantrell prompted. 

“No rush, Clay. Kinda surprised me to 
find you up here whanging that old buck. 
I knew he was here . . . fact I came up 


to get him for Graham." The fiction had 
the desired effect on Quantrell. Jim saw 
indecision dawn in his eyes. Clay didn't 
want any trouble with. Rand. He ex- 
changed a furtive glance with his men. 

“That’s all right with me,” he said. “Тһе 
quicker you get him out of here the better 
ГИ like it—and you can include yourself. 
Shorty caught him sneakin' down to the 
creek for water this mornin’. I got enough 
to worry about without havin' an Injun 
burnin' me out some night." 

"Can't blame you for being careful," 
Montana declared soberly. Some folks 
might find it handy to blame a fire on an 
Indian, but I guess we know where to 
look for the guilty parties, don't we?” 

He was watching him closely. A puz- 
zled look flitted across Quantrell's face. 

“I don't know whether I get your drift 
or not," he drawled. 

"[ was referring to last night, Clay. 
Dave Morrow’s hay was fired. A little 
later, Jubal Stark's house burned to the 
ground . . . Didn't you know?" 

“Why, no! The goldurn skunks! They 
ought to be lynched, burnin’ a man out!” 
His surprise and indignation seemed genu- 
ine enough. 

“I told you I figgered there wus a fire 
acrost the valley last night," said one of 
his men. 

“І remember your sayin’ it, Shorty,” 
Quantrell recalled. “I didn’t think it was 
any more than a little brush burnin’... . 
Can’t be any doubt about who did it.” 

“Tt wouldn’t seem so,” Jim said without 
hesitation. 

Anythin' been done about it?” 

J was out all morning trying to pick 
up their trail. Didn’t get anywhere to 
speak of. Reckon they came down over 
east and cut across the valley as far as 
the Big Powder and followed the creek 
north.” 

“That’s about what they would do,” 
Quantrell agreed hurriedly. Jim thought 
he caught a note of relief in his voice, 
“Makes all your talk sound kinda foolish, 
don’t it?” 

“Puts me on the end of a limb, all 
right. But I’m learning fast,” Montana 
added cryptically. 

Quantrell seemed to melt to good-will. 
“I thought you'd come to your senses." 

It was exactly the impression Montana 
wanted to leave. They talked about the 
fires for a minute or two, 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 81 


“Guess I'll be going along," Jim said 
finally. He turned and spoke to Thunder 
Bird in sign language. The message he 
conveyed was un , but the old In- 
dian’s answer was only a toneless grunt. 

When Jim had climbed into his saddle, 
Thunder Bird got up behind him. 

Quantrell swaggered over to where Jim 
sat staring at the valley below. 

“Quite a view from here, Clay.” 

“Yeah! Lotta country down there." 

Montana raised his hand to shield his 
eyes. 

“You can see the place where the kid 
was killed, can't you?" 


UANTRELL was caught off guard. 

He craned his neck and stared with 

Jim. Why, no—" He broke off suddenly. 

From the way his mouth tightened, Mon- 

tana knew he had sensed danger. “Course 

all I know is what Reb said," he corrected 

himself. “I understood him to say it was 
right at the forks." 

“I guess you're right at that,” Tim mur- 
mured thoughtfully. He leaned over con- 
fidentially and lowered his voice to a whis- 
per. “You don’t suppose old Thunder Bird 
saw anything, eh?" 

Quantrell repressed a start of alarm. 
Out of the corner of his eyes he flashed 
a glance at the old Indian, Thunder Bird's 
face was as expressionless as a piece of 
wrinkled parchment. 

"Why, no; he's half blind," Quantrell 
muttered unpleasantly. “He couldn't see 
anythin'.“ 

He's old, of course, Jim nodded. It 
was just a thought.” 

Quantrell rolled a cigarette with exas - 
perating care. 

“Still playin’ around with the idea I got 
the Kid?” he queried without looking up. 

“Oh, I don’t know." Jim's tone was 
guileless. “Тһе news bowled me over last 
night. But it will keep. Reckon I threw 
the grit into you pretty hard.” 

“Мо hard feelin's my hide’s tough,” 
Quantrell laughed. “Anytime you can pin 
anythin’ Hke that on me—go to it." 

That was Montana’s intention, and their 
conversation bad only intensified his sus- 
picions. And yet, he managed a grim smile 
as he picked up his rein. 

“So long Clay,” he said. 

*I'd go down with you," the big fellow 
volunteered, *if we wasn't goin' up in the 
hil!s lookin' for strays." 


“All your boys, eh?" Jim queried, indi- 
cating the others. 

“Yeah! » 

"Looks like you're going in on a big 
scale." 

Quantrell shot him a quick glance. Mon- 
tana's eyes were smiling, but in their depths 
he found a mocking light. It nettled him. 

“I'm prepared for trouble—no matter 
where it comes," he announced. I don't 
figger to take anybody's back water." 

His men gathered about him as Mon- 
tana rode away. 

*Better make a bluff of combin' the 
hills until he's out of sight," Quantrell 
advised. I thought he was goin’ to be 
tough; but you heard the conversation. 
He won't make us any trouble." 

*Don't kid yourself," Shorty grumbled. 
“Туе seen his kind before; he ain't half as 


dumb as he pretends. 
“Қо?” Quantrell dared. “Well, let him 
start somethin’. I'll take care of him in: 


a hurry. No time to begin croakin' when 
we're gettin' all the breaks." 

The others agreed with him. 

“I ain't croakin’,” Shorty argued. Не 
ran his fingers over the red bristles that 
fringed his chin. That guy's cagy—that’s 
al. But what the hell! Both sides are at 
each other's throats right now. Whatever 
happens, they'll blame it on the other fel- 
low. If this gent gets rubbed out—what 
of it?" Қ 

“Now you're talkin'" Quantrell ex- 
claimed. We can begin to get busy inside 
of a week. And we'll milk this thing dry. 
When we get through, if old Slick-ear wants 
to buy the place—at my price—okay! 
Let him put the money on the line." 


CHAPTER IX 
REPRISAL 


ONTANA learned nothing from the 
old Indian. Plenty Eagles met them 
on the plateau. At Jim's urging, 

the boy harangued his father in Piute, but 
nothing came of it. If Thunder Bird 
knew anything, he was afraid to speak. 

„J don't want you to mix it up with 
Quantrell over this," Jim warned the boy. 
“Нез my meat. You go on up to the 
Needles now, and when you go out or come 
in again take the Iron Point road." 

*Not got job," Plenty Eagles explained. 
Mebbe staying up there two, three weeks.“ 

Montana spoke to the boy at length and 


32 WESTERN ACTION 
then turned his horse toward the valley. 
The sun was sinking by the time he reached 
the Big Powder. He followed the creek 
south for several miles. 

Once he thought he was being followed. 
He drew up sharply and listened. It was 
only a coyote slipping through the brakes. 

“Nerves getting jumpy,” he smiled to 
himself as he turned east for the Skull and 
the Box C. 

The day had developed little that was 
definite. If he was more suspicious than 
ever of Quantrell, it was a matter personal 
to him; and he decided to say nothing to 
Crockett. For the present he was content 
to play a lone hand. 

The Box C looked so peaceful as he rode 
in that it was hard to believe that death 
stalked the range. The supper bell rang 
as he walked his horse into the yard. After 
they had eaten, they repaired to the bench 
outside the kitchen as usual. Nothing had 
happened in his absence. 

“They'll get busy again tonight," Gene 
predicted. Mebbe we'll git it this time." 

“We'll be watchin’,” his father assured 
him. “I ain't worried so much about bein’ 
burned out down here as I am about the 
stuff we got on the range. Mebbe it'll 
look like backin' down," he went on sober- 
ly, “but I don't care. Tomorrow we'll take 
the mowers and go down on the reserva- 
tion. I’m goin’ to cut my grass there and 
see if I can't make a crop of hay. Soon 
as we git it stacked, we'll move our cattle 
down there. It may keep us out of trou- 
ble." : 

His decision did not please his sons. 

“What’ll folks say?" Gene demanded 
angrily. ‘“Mought as well let the Bar S 
have it all as do that! It’s our range, 
Pap! Why should we pull our stuff off?” 

“Dead steers ain’t no use to no one,” 
Dan replied . “Туе got to have some beef 
to sell this fall.” 

By this arrangement, old Ben, rifle across 
his saddle bow, patrolled the Box C range 
on the south bank of the North Fork. The 
others toiled on the reservation for the 
better part of the week. Stock was being 
killed every night. 

“We'll git it,“ Brent Crockett warned. 

- “We ought to be out there day and night 
instead of stackin’ hay.” 

“We'll be through tomorrow,” his father 
reminded him. “If they'll just hold off a 
mite longer we'll get our stuff moved." 

That evening, just after supper, one of 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


old Lance’s boys rode in with the news 
that the Bar S had brought more men into 
the valley. 

“Must be nigh onto forty of 'em here 
now," the boy said. Ole Slick-ear is with 
em. They're fixin? up Eph Mellon’s 
house." 

It was unpleasant news. 
meant more strife. 

“Where did you get your information?” 
Montana asked. Were you scouting up 
there?" 

“J had a good look around, all right," 
the youngster replied. He was not over 
sixteen, “Eph never should have sold out 
on us." 

Montana was not concerned about that, 
nor was he surprised to learn that Mr. 
Stall was on the ground now. The thing 
that bowled him over was that boys as 
young as this were in the fray. 

*Do you know you're apt to get killed 
scouting that country?" he asked. “It’s 
a damned shame to see boys as young as 
you getting into this." 

“Reckon I can take keer of myself," the 
lad replied. “I know how to use a rifle.” 

Before the boy left he got Gene and 
Brent aside. What passed between them 
Montana did not know. Later, the two 
brothers were aloof and uncommunicative. 
About midnight they stole out of the 
house. Jim heard them ride away. It was 
not the first time he had heard them leave 


Inevitably it 


late at night. 
“ТһеуЛі get over their heads,” he 
thought. Slaughtering Bar S cattle will 


grow pretty tame before long.” 

Although they did not return home until 
three the following morning, they were up 
again at dawn, ready for work. Ben came 
in while they were eating breakfast. The 
air was soon blue with his cursing. 

“What is it?" Dan demanded sharply. 

“That white-faced bull!” Ben boomed. 
“Deader an a mackerel! Не was right 
on our own range, too! Somebody got him 
with a high-power from across the creek!” 

“Qh, Lord!” Рап groaned as he fell 
back into his chair. 

The white-faced bull was one of the few 
Herefords in that country at the time. 
Dan had paid a fancy price for him, in an 
effort to improve his herd. 

The boys kicked their chairs out from 
under them and raged like two madmen. 
It was on Jim’s tongue to tell them that 
if they killed Bar S cattle it was only 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 88 


natural to expect that their own would be 
killed in return. But-he said nothing. He 
had made up his mind that if they wanted 
his advice they would have to ask for it. 

The incident provided the Crocketts 
with a topic of conversation for the day 
that—as far as the boys were concerned— 
grew more bitter the longer they discussed 
it. 

All hands toiled after sundown without 
finishing their task. Nevertheless, Dan 
said he would move his cattle down in the 
morning. 

A great preoccupation rested on him. 
After the dishes were cleared away, he got 
out an old worn Bible. He read aloud 
8s his wife washed her pots and pans. The 
boys had drawn off to the barn. Montana 
found himself quite alone. 

* *And the Lord shall deliver them—’ ” 

It was Crockett, his voice solemn and 
sepulchral as he read on. 

“Amen!” the boys’ 
reverently. 

Jim fell to listening. Such religion as he 
had was born of the lonely places and the 
sun and the stars. Mrs. Crockett had fin- 
ished her chores. He could see her shadow 
on the wall as she sat at the table with 
her husband, her thin frame weary with 
the toil and drudgery of a lifetime spent 
making a home in the wilderness. 

Dan put the Book away at last and sat 
deep in thought. He broke his silence 
finally. 

“The Book says to have faith and the 
Lord will help us,” he said. “I reckon my 
faith will see me through, but there's times 
when it comes pretty hard. All our lives 
we been hardworkin'; we fetched the boys 
up to be God-fearin’ men. Awhile back it 
looked like we mought have our reward 
and find a mite of comfort. Now all this 
trouble had to come. . . . It don’t seem 
right fair to us, Mother." 

“ ‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh 
away,’” she quoted. Nancy Crockett had 
first heard the words in a humble mountain 
cabin in the far-away Cumberlands of Ken- 
tucky. For her they had softened the 
futility of life and its bitter disappoint- 
ments. “It’s His will, Dan’el.” 


mother intoned 


ONTANA was filled with a strange 

melancholy. ‘They weren’t young 
any longer. It was this or nothing; they’d 
never have another chance. It made what 
little he had done for them worthwhile, 


He got up to walk down to the creek and 
back before going to bed. The evening 
was soft and balmy. He was halfway to 
the Skull when old Nell, the ranch dog, 
began to howl dismally. Ben must have 
come to the door of his cabin and shied 
a boot at her, for she stopped very sud- 
denly. 

In the moodiness that gripped him, Mon- 
tana found his thoughts straying to Letty 
Stall. The bitter struggle in which he was 
taking part proved how far removed she 
1 — from the environment that was his 
life. : 

“She'll never get the right of this," he 
thought, *nor understand what I'm trying . 
to do." He could imagine the contempt in 
which Bar S men held him now. She would 
share that feeling. “You couldn't hardly 
ask her to feel any other way about it," 
he admitted. 

It was well enough to say that she never 
bothered to think of him. That didn't end 
it. He knew her good opinion was the 
most precious thing in the world. There 
was some satisfaction in thinking he had 
never given her reason to suspect his love 
for her. 

“Tve often made a fool of myself," he 
muttered unhappily, *but at least I never 
was the presuming kind." 

'The boys were in bed when he got back 
to the house. Half an hour later he was 
sound asleep himself. It seemed but a 
short while, though it was really nearing 
midnight, when he felt a hand on his shoul- 
der. 

“Jim! Wake up!" It was 
Crockett. Where are the boys?” 

Montana sat up, rubbing the sleep out 
of his eyes. ‘“Why—what’s wrong?” he 
asked. 

*T'm worried, Jim. You know how they 
been talkin' all day. I don't want them 
packin' off into trouble. I didn't want to 
lose the bull, but I don't want them to git 
shot up over it." 

“It isn’t the first night they've ridden 
out," Montana felt justified in saying. 

*What? Why didn't you tell me?" 

“Well, І fancy they wouldn't relish my 
spying on them, for one thing. My talk 
doesn't seem to set well any more. I know 
old Lance’s boy brought them some mes- 
sage this evening. I began to put two and 
two together right then. Sure as shooting, 
Dan, those boys have organized themselves 
into nightriders." 


Dan 


34 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


Dan ran his hand under the blankets 
of Gene’s bed. 

“Ain’t been gone long,” he said. “Тһе 
bed’s still warm.” He stood up, his cheeks 
cavernous in the light of the candle. Mon- 
tana saw him reach a decision. “Jim, I'm 
goin’ to git em,“ he announced. Do you 
mind comin’ along?” 

“ТОП be like looking for a tick on a 
sheep’s back. Where are we going to find 
them?” Е 

*If they're raidin’ the Bar S, they'll go 
around by the head of North Fork, or try 
to cross it lower down." All the placidity 
Jim associated with Crockett was gone. 
The man's face was white and drawn. 
“You pull on your pants, Jim,” he ran on. 
“Пі go up by the way of the Skull and 
swing over to the North Folk. You go 
around by the east. Mebbe we'll run into 
'em. Whether we do or not, I'll meet up 
with you in the coulee below Lance's place. 

Outside, old Nell began to howl again. 

“My God, why’s she a doin’ that?” Dan 
cried, ‘You hurry up, Jim!" 

He had their horses saddled by the time 
Montana reached the corral. Before he 
rode off he paused to repeat his instruc- 
tions. 

“And if you meet up with 'em, Jim, tell 
'em I want ’em to home. It’s an order 
from me!” 

Montana found himself in an utterly 
ridiculous position. He knew the boys 
would not listen to him, should he find 
them. They had shown him plainly that 
they wanted nothing more to do with him. 

Once away from the Box C, he slowed 
his horse down to,a walk. For one thing, 
he didn’t share Dan’s anxiety. The boys 
had been slipping out repeatedly, He had 
no reasons to believe that this night held 
any more danger for them than had the 
others. The route he was following was 
the shorter. It was his intention to time 
himself so that he would arrive at the 
coulee about the time Dan did. 

The night was bright enough for him to 
see a long way. It also made him an easy 
mark for any lurking foe. However, he 
reached the head of the North Fork with- 
out difficulty. An hour later he entered the 
big coulee. 

“Reckon we'll never get a flash of them, 
he thought. But five minutes had not 
passed before he pulled his horse up short. 
The night wind had brought him the mur- 
mur of voices, 


» 


“Somebody down there,” he told him» 
self. He slid from his saddle and went 
ahead on foot. He had not gone thirty 
yards when a gun was poked into his back. 

“Stick ’em up!” one of his captors 
commanded. “Now walk ahead, and don’t 
take yer hands down if ye don’t want to 
git hurt!” 

One of the others called out a warning 
to those down below. In a few moments 
Montana found himself in the grassy dell 
at the bottom of the coulee. Not less than 
twenty boys sat on their horses, waiting, 
guns drawn. А second glance revealed 
Clay Quantrell. The big fellow was urging 
his horse forward, 

“Who you got there?" he asked gruffly. 

“Jim Montana!” answered the boy who 
held his gun to Jim's back. Montana rec- 
ognized him then, It was Joe Gault's 
son. 

` *Montana?" a dozen voices echoed. The 
angry muttering that followed told Jim how 
unwelcome he was. He saw Gene Crockett 
leap to the ground and rush at him bellig- 
erently. 

“What are you doin’ here — spyin' on 
us?" he whipped out, his face twisted with 
rage. 

"PH let your father answer that when 
he gets here," Jim replied, “I expect he'll 
be along directly." 

“So you got Pap out tryin’ to ride herd 
on us, too," Gene sneered. "'Listenin' to 
you has done a lot of good, ain't it? Listen- 
in’ to you and your take-it-easy talk is mak- 
in’ an ole woman out of him! It's about 
time you learned your place, Montana! We 
don't need you. We can pick our own 
leaders." 

A wave of angry approval broke from 
the crowd. 

*So I see," Jim said. His tone was chill- 
ing in its intensity. “Тһе kind that doesn't 
draw the line at sending boys out to get 
killed but who take damned good care of 
their own hides." 

“T take it you're referrin’ to me,” Quan- 
trell threatened. 

“You take it right!” Jim flung back. 
“This thing’s bad enough without getting 
kids into it.” 

“Yeah?” Quantrell knew his audience 
was with him and he made the most of the 
moment. “Тһе trouble with you, Mon- 
tana, is you were a Bar S man once, and 
right down in your heart you're a Bar S 
man yet!” 4 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 35 


BY the way the boys received it, Jim 
knew it had been said before. The 
next moment young Gene proved to him 
how the thought had flowered. 

“When you were in Wild Horse we 
thought you were our friend," the boy ex- 
claimed. In seemin’ to side with us mebbe 
you was only pullin' the iron out of the 
fire fer old man Stall. How do you know 
you ain't with him lock, stock and barrel?" 

Jim knew where he had got that. It was 
almost as though Quantrell were speaking. 
As he hesitated over his answer, a boy 
rode in to warn them that someone was 
coming. 

“ТӘП be Pap," Brent Crockett told his 
brother. “We better git goin’.” 

“You're right, Brent. We got some work 
to do, and if it's any news to you, Mon- 
tana, we're crossin’ the creek and firin’ 
their range. We don't aim to be stopped 
by you." 

Finding Quantrell running things had 
made Jim change his mind about interfer- 
ing. He decided that Gene and Brent 
should wait there with him. He told them. 

“Better not try it,“ Gene warned. 
“We're fannin’ it out of here in a hurry!” 

Montana was not underestimating his 
danger. His smile meant nothing. His 
eyes were colder than ice. He had asked 
for cards, and he had to play them now. 

I'm sorry," he said. “Тһе others can 
go if they want to, but you and Brent are 
staying here with me!” Before they could 
stop him, he had jerked out his guns. “Get 
going, the rest of you!“ he barked, his eyes 
on Quantrell. 

It was his undoing. Ira Gault was be- 
hind him. He raised his pistol and brought 
it down with force enough to fell Montana. 
Senses reeling, Jim heard their wild cry as 
they raced away, riding like demons. 

They had scarcely crested the long hill 
to the north when Montana heard Dan 
calling him. What Jim had to say left 
Crockett speechless for a moment. 

“The young fools!” he got out with an 
effort. They must be crazy, Jim!” 

He was for following them. Montana 
said no. 

“You can't stop them now. The sensible 
thing to do is head for home." The back 
of his head was wet with blood. ‘“Who- 
ever fetched me that clip had his heart in 
it,“ he muttered. ‘You'll find my horse 
in the brush. If you'll get him, Dan, we'll 
start back." 


They stopped at the creek and Montana 
bathed his head. His thoughts were bitter. 
“Га hate to have it said that a tin-horn 
ran me out," he declared, “but I'm almost 


minded to move along, Dan.” 


“I won't hear of it!" Crockett an- 
swered loyally. “I know you're with us 
heart and soul. Tl] have this out with 
the boys, and with Quantrell, too, for the 
matter of that.” 

“Better not," Jim advised. Quantrell's 
welcome to his opinion of me. I certainly 
have mine of him.” : 

Dan refused to go to bed when they 
reached the ranch. Over toward the North 
Fork the sky was a dull red. 

I'll wait up for 'em,“ he said. 

Long after Montana had thrown himself 
down on his blankets, head throbbing, he 
could hear him pacing back and forth across 
the yard, mumbling to himself. 


CHAPTER X 
THE HYPHEN FLASH or DEATH 


N hour before dawn a cry aroused 

. Montana. He pulled on his boots 

and stepped out. Brent Crockett was 

riding into the yard. Тһе boy sat stiffly 
erect, his eyes stained with tragedy. 

Two others were with him. They were 
talking, and their voices were charged with 
a grim determination. 

“You couldn't do no good a-goin’ back 
for him," Montana heard one of them say. 


The boy was addressing Brent. *Reckon 
we got to be men about this." 
“Damn em,“ the other muttered. 


“They'll pay for it; we ain't done yit." 

Dan held up his lantern, his hand shak- 
ing. The snatch of conversation that had 
come to them permitted but one conclu- 
sion. 

“Jim—he’s come back without Gene!" 
There was a sob in Crockett's throat. 

*Yeah—" Montana answered toneless- 
ly. “Тһе fools,” he added to himself. 

It was only a moment or two before the 
three boys pulled up their mounts in front 
of the two men. 

*Where's. Gene? What's happened to 
him?" Dan demanded before Brent could 
slip out of his saddle. Anxiety was written 
in every line of his weather-beaten face. 

Jim saw a dry sob rack Brent. He hung 
his head and couldn't answer. The others 
seemed strangely reluctant to speak. 

* Come on," Dan urged sharply his voice 


86 WESTERN ACTION 
thin and strained. “What is it, Brent?” 
'The old man was suddenly a pathetic fig- 
ure. Sight of him seemed completely to un- 


nerve Brent. He broke down and began 
to cry. 
*Pap—they got him," he sobbed. “1—1 


reckon Gene's dead.” He couldn't go on 
for a moment or two. “Why couldn't it 
hev been me?" he moaned over and over. 
'The news shook his father. For seconds 
he stared dumbly at the boy and said noth- 
ing. Tragedy had been no stranger to him. 
He had schooled himself to its sudden 
blows, but now he trembled like a gnarled, 
timberline cedar that at last finds the blast 
too strong. His lips began to move, but 
he was only mumbling incoherently to him- 
self. 


Montana put a hand on his bowed 
shoulders. 

“Come on, Dan," he murmured hope- 
fully, *maybe the boy's only wounded. No 
use thinking otherwise until we know to 
the contrary." 

He paused to glance at Brent. The boy 
refused to meet his eyes, now that his folly 
had ended so disastrously. 

"| wanted to go back and git him," 
Brent muttered miserably. “Тһе boys 
wouldn’t let me do it.” 

“That’s right,” one of them spoke up. 
“Brent wanted to go bustin’ back acrost 
the creek when he found Gene wa’n’t with 
us. We had to cuff him around a little 
before he'd listen to reason. Wa'n't no 
sense in both of 'em gittin’ it.” 

Montana turned to Brent. 

Brent — do you mind telling me just 
what happened?” 

The boy raised his head reluctantly. 
Even now, crushed as he was, he could not 
face Montana without hostility. It sur- 
prised him not to find Jim’s eyes accusing. 

“We got acrost the creek, all right,” he 
got out, breathing hard. We set the grass 
afire right off, but it was dry and it flamed 
up fore we could git away.” He shook 
his head at the memory. “Кескоп they 
wuz aixpectin’ us. They began to blaze 
away at us. Four or five of them cut Gene 
off. We heard ’em calling on him to throw 


up his hands. But Gene begin shootin’ 
back. They got him directly. We seen 
him go down—” 

“Then what happened?” Montana 


prompted. “If the grass was burning fast 
you must have been able to see a long 
way.” 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


“They could see, too,” Brent replied. 
“We had to git to cover or they’d have 
picked us all off. So we got back acrost the 
creek and waited—hoping he might show 
up. When he didn’t come, I said I was 
agoin' back fer him. And 'Td gone, too, 
if they hadn't piled into me that-a-way." 

Montana had the picture. 

“I guess it's just as well you didn’t go,” 

. hesaid. *Who was running things?" 

Brent misunderstood his thought. 

"Ain't no use your blamin’ Quantrell 
for this," he grumbled. "He didn't hev 
nuthin' to do with it." 

“How come?” 

“Why—his horse went lame,” Brent 


explained. Twisted an ankle or some- 
thin’ fore we first reached the creek. It 
slowed him up." 


“Reckon it did," Montana's tone was 
bitter. Pressed for time like that, I sup- 
pose he told you to go on." 

*We couldn't wait for him," one of the 
other boys cut in. We had to be back be- 
fore daylight." 

"Of course.” Montana's tone was 
mocking. “I reckon Quantrell didn't ar- 
rive in time to go across with you at all." 

“Why—no,” Brent muttered unhappily, 
beginning to sense what was running 
through Jim’s mind. 

Montana’s jaws clicked together omi- 
nously. He thought, “A Bar S bullet may 
have got Gene, but Quantrell is the real 
murderer.” Aloud he said, “You know it’s 
awfully easy to lame a horse, Brent— 
awfully convenient sometimes.” 

The three boys understood him, but they 
had no reply to make. Montana turned to 
Dan Crockett. 

“Dan, I’m going up there,” he said. “I 
can make it before daylight. “Just keep 
on hoping for the best until I get back.” 

Crockett nodded glumly. Hope was dead 
in his heart. 

“ТӘП be dangerous, Jim—" 

“Don’t think about that. Somebody’s 
got to go." He spoke to Brent again, 
asking him where they had crossed the 
North Fork. 

“At the monument rock. Guess you 
know where I mean.” Jim nodded. 
“There’s a big flat just above it. That’s 
where all the shootin’ wuz.... If you’re 
goin’, Montana, I'll go with you." 

“No, I'll go alone,” Jim declared. He 
asked Dan to walk down to the corral with 
him. “Better keep your eye on Brent. 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 37 


Tell him ќо stay away from the house until 
I get back. For the present, Dan, I 
wouldn't say anything to the wife," he ad- 
vised. “It may not be as bad as we 
think." 

"I reckon it'll be bad enough," Dan 
muttered hopelessly. “I seen this comin’, 
Jim. I felt it all evenin’.... Poor, foolish 
boy.” 


E helped Jim to saddle up. 

“Don’t seem that you should be 
the one to go," he said. "They'll mow you 
down quicker than any of us." 

“Don’t worry, Dan; 111 be all right.“ 

He left without another word. It was 
his intention to be across the North Fork 
before dawn, and he did not spare his 
horse. 

A breeze had sprung up. It was cool 
against his cheek. It helped him to think. 
Long before he reached the creek, he had 
decided on his course of action. In line 
with it, he crossed the North Fork a mile 
below the monument and headed for the 
hills so as to come out above the big flat 
where the fighting had occurred. 

The rising wind alone would have told 
him that dawn was not far away. By the 
time he reached the head of the flat, the 
shadows were beginning to lighten to the 
east. Below him it still was night. 

From where he stood it was possibly 
three-quarters of a mile to the creek. 

“No use to go ahead on foot," he 


thought. “If I find him, I’ve got to get 
out in a hurry. TIl need a horse right 
quick." 


The fire the- boys had lighted had been 
put out, but the smell of burned grass 
filled his nostrils. It was very still. As he 
stopped every few feet, he could hear dis- 
tinctly the purling of the creek. 

The rolling plain was without cover of 
any sort. If Reb and his men were watch- 
ing—and he had every reason to believe 
they were—they would locate him quickly 
enough as soon as it grew light. 

*Maybe they don't know Gene is here," 
he mused. That Would be in his favor. 
On the other hand, if they had found the 
boy, and he was ‘not dead, they hardly 
would have left him there. Jim refused to 
believe Reb would be that heartless. 

Minutes fled as he continued his search. 
The sky was already pink and yellow be- 

` yond the Malheurs. 

He thought, “I'll have to be on my way." 


He urged his horse ahead. They had 
gone only a few yards when the animal 
stopped. Montana peered through the pur- 
ple mists and saw only what he took to 
be a low rock outcropping. He kneed his 
horse, but got no response. 

“What is it, Paint?” he murmured. The 
horse’s ears were stiff and erect. Jim slid 
to the ground. Three or four steps and he 
saw that the brown patch was a tarpulin, 


not a rock. He lifted one end of it. Gene 
lay there. He was dead. 

“Poor old Mother Crockett,” Jim 
thought. “It’s going to be awfully hard on 
her. He was her baby.” 


It took him several minutes to place the 
body across his saddle bow. He knew be- 
yond doubt that the Bar S had someone 
watching the flat. 

“Reb knows that come sun-up we’d make 
some effort to find the boy,” he told him- 
self. “Ten to one I'll draw lead before I 
get across the creek." 

The rock, known locally as the monu- 
ment—it was a shaft of granite ten feet 
in diameter and at least forty feet high— 
loomed out of the shadows to his right. 
Montana moved toward it, leading his 
horse. 

He reached it safely. The creek bottom 
was only ten to twelve feet below him. 

“Better get across right away," he 
thought, *and take a chance on making it." 

He edged around the rock and was about 
to pick his way down to the bottom when 
he found four men stretched out on their 
rifles at his feet. 

They were even more surprised than he. 
Two of them he recognized: Johnny Lefleur 
and Ike Sweet. Before they could throw 
their guns into position, he had them cov- 
ered. 

“Well, I'll be damned!” Johnny Lefleur 
exclaimed. “Where in all hell did you come 
from?" 

"Just back away from your guns and 
start picking stars,” Montana ordered. 
“You boys have got awfully careless since 
I used to know you.” 

He kicked their rifles off the ledge. A 
fifth gun rested against the rock. Five 
thirty-thirty’s and only four men! He knew 
the fifth man could not be far away. 

“Now you got anything else on you?” 
he asked. 

Johnny had a forty-five in his holster. 
Jim tossed it after the rifles. He was about 
to speak when a movement behind him 


88 WESTERN ACTION 


"e him, too late, that he had lost the 
ay. 
“І guess it's your turn to elevate," a 
voice rasped. Montana didn't have to turn 
to identify the other. It was Reb. He was 
almost as incensed at his own men as at 
Montana. 

“Fine bunch," he sneered. ‘You'll live 
to a ripe old age, bein’ careful that-a-way!” 

“Aw, we heard him comin’,” Johnny 
Lefleur protested. “We thought it would 

ou.” 

“Yeah?” Reb taunted. “You believe in 
Santa Claus, too, don’t you?” The red- 
haired one took a step forward. Jim could 
feel something boring into his back. “You 
can drop that gun,” Reb advised. 

Montana obliged by flinging it into the 
creek bottom. 

“I said to drop it!” Reb thundered. 
"What's the idea?" Не told Johnny to 
slip down and recover their rifles. 

His perturbation tended to confirm what 
Montana was thinking. His eyes were in- 
scrutable in the cold light of dawn. Seem- 
ingly without purpose he shifted around 
on his feet so that he could catch Reb's 
reflection on the big silver concho that 
adorned the skirt of his saddle. It was 
like gazing into a convex mirror. 

What he saw there made his blood run 
warm. Reb was not armed! He had stuck 
him up with nothing more formidable than 
his finger. 


ONTANA repressed his start of sat- 
isfaction and stood with hands 
raised. 

“The crowd you're trailin’ with took an 
awful chance in sending you over here,” 
Reb went on. “But I reckon men who'll 
send kids out to do their fightin’ will stoop 
to most anythin’.” 

“If that was true, Га feel as you do 
about it,” Jira replied. “But I tried to stop 
those boys last night. So did that lad’s 
father. They wouldn't have it that way. 
It takes a pretty raw deal to steam boys 
up so they'll ride out in the night willing 
to get killed to help their folks." Jim shook 
his head sadly as his eyes strayed to Gene's 
lifeless body. But only seventeen, Reb 
and wiped out like that!? 

"Don't get teary about it!" Reb mut- 
tered. "I got two men on the way to Wild 
Horse with slugs in 'em. It’s a long, rocky 
road, and the fact that a bunch of boys 
did the trick won’t make it any easier for 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


them. Now you can take that kid back 
where you found him. If they want him— 
let the bunch that came over here last 
night come and get him, I said stay out— 
and I meant stay out. Get goin’, Mon- 
tana!” 

Jim did not offer to move. Johnny 
would be back with their rifles in a min- 
ute. He was not thinking of him. His 
eyes were fastened on the butt of a six- 
gun peeping out of Gene Crockett's holster. 
He knew he could draw it quickly enough. 
But what if it were empty? 

He felt he had to take that chance. His 
manner did not betray the thoughts racing 
through his mind. 

“1 was taking him back to his folks,” he 
murmured evenly. “I—I reckon I’m not 
changing my mind!” 

His hand flashed out and closed over 
Gene's gun as he whirled on them. 

“Its still my play," he droned. Get 
over there with Ike—and move fast, Reb!” 

Reb knew his man — and he stepped 
aside. In another minute Montana was in 
the saddle and riding across the flat, away 
from the rock. He heard Reb call to 
Johnny Lefleur. If Johnny had recovered 
his rifle he could pick him off at that 
distance. 

Strangely enough, Montana crossed the 
creek, five hundred yards away, without 
& shot being fired. 

Back at the rock, Reb was furious. 

"Why didn't you pick him off!" he 
roared. ‘You had all the chance in the 
world!” 

Johnny scratched his head reflectively. 

“No,” he muttered, “if a gent’s got guts 
enough to ride in here and force a show- 
down like that on us, I ain’t gonna send 
a slug into him just to ease my feelin’s.” 


CHAPTER XI 
WHERE THE DARK ANGEL WALKS 


was well on toward seven o’clock when 
Montana sighted the little huddle of 
buildings that was Box С. Не rode 
slowly, Gene’s lifeless body draped across 
his saddle bow. It was a beautiful blue 
and white morning, with the faintest of 
breezes stirring the sage. In the dazzling 
bright sunlight and clear, tonic air of early 
morning it was hard to believe that tragedy 
rode with him. 
They would see him, long before he ar- 
rived, and know what to expect. He felt 


mother who bears the brunt of it. 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 39 


Sorry enough for Dan and Brent, but it 
was of Mother Crockett, rather than them, 
that he was thinking. Gene was her baby 
and, in the way of mothers, her dreams 
and hopes had centered about him. Men 
break the wilderness and other men raise 
monuments to them, but it is the pioneer 
He 
knew it. His own mother had been no 
exception. Uncomplaining, she had moved 
down the Snake and on to Oregon, help- 
ing her husband to win a home on the 
range. 

She had broken land with him, ridden 
after stock, with Jim in her arms, doing 
the work of a man as well as the drudgery 
of keeping a home together, applying her- 
self with such ingenuity as a man seldom 
achieves. Neighbors had been non-existent. 
When, by chance, they moved in, Sam 
Montana had invariably felt the urge to 
drift on to a newer country where the op- 
portunities were greater. 

For him it had held an avenue of es- 
cape. For his wife it had meant only 
moving on to even greater hardships. 
Through it all she had continued to smile, 
following him without question, but hug- 
ging to her heart the resolve that Jim's 
life should be easier than theirs. 

“Tt isn’t going to matter to her whether 
Gene was right or wrong," he thought. 
*He's gone, and she's going to find it hard 
to go on." 

When they saw him coming, Brent and 
the boys got into their saddles and rode 
out to meet him. A glance confirmed the 
fact that Gene was dead. Although no 
more than they expected, the truth shook 
their surly defiance, and their faces were 
white as they turned their horses to ride 
back with Montana. Brent tried ineffec- 
tually to hide his emotion. 

"They'll. pay for this, he muttered. 
*We ain't done with 'em." 

*Hardly the time for talk of that sort," 
Jim remonstrated. “You boys had no call 
to get mixed up in this—at least not yet. 
If you had listened to your father Gene 
would be alive." 

“God a'mighty," Brent burst out, tears 
running down his cheeks, “yuh don’t 
aixpect us to take ever’thin’ they hand us, 
do yuh?” 

“No, Brent, I don’t expect you to like 
what they’re dishing out to you,” Mon- 
tana answered patiently. “But you ought 
to be smart enough not to let them force 


your hand. Don’t think you can win this 
fight by shooting it out. As long as Henry 
Stall can pay wages he can keep on throw- 
ing men against you until you’re all wiped 
out. I don’t believe in preaching after the 
trouble’s done, but if you boys insist on 
getting into the fracas I advise you to fol- 
low a cooler head than Clay Quantrell. 
His fire-eating talk is a great brave-maker. 
It led vou into a jack-pot last night, but 
Quantrell was damned careful to see that 
he didn’t get a slug in his hide. Steam- 
ing up a lot of boys and then ducking out 
at the last minute don’t set very well with 
me. I reckon he’ll have a hard time ex- 
plaining it to your mother.” 

It silenced Brent and his companions. 
They rode along with only the creaking of 
leather breaking the silence. Presently 
Montana caught sight of Dan Crockett, 
waiting at the barn. 

“Better ride ahead and tell him, Brent," 
Jim said. “Ask him to get your mother 
out of the kitchen until we carry Gene in.” 
: Brent spurred ahead. Montana flashed 
a glance at the other boys. They were 
plainly desirous of leaving. 

“Better stick it out, Montana advised. 
“Tt may cool you off a little." 

Dan was waiting for them when they 
reached the house. He was a pitiful fig- 
ure. Inside, Jim could hear Mother 
Crockett sobbing out her grief as Brent 
tried to console her. He got down and 
started to lift the boy's body down. Dan 
stopped him. 

“ГИ take him in, Jim," he got out with 
an effort. He couldn't keep back his tears 
as his hand touched the boy's face. “Gene 
—my boy—” he mumbled heartbreakingly. 

“Т better give you a hand, Dan,“ Mon- 
tana insisted. “He’s pretty heavy.” 

They carried Gene in and laid him on 
his bed. Jim pulled off the lad’s boots and 
signaled for the boys to step outside. He 
wanted to comfort the father but he knew 
the folly of words at such a time. 

“Ruther they’d taken the place — 
ever’thin’ we’ve got than to have had this 
happen," Dan mumbled brokenly. “Comes 
pritty hard, Jim.” 

Montana nodded, afraid to trust his 
voice for the moment. 

“РІ send word to the Gaults and Mor- 
rows by the boys," he said. ‘Mother will 
feel better for having some women folks 
around. You've got to bear up, Dan, for 
her sake now." 


40 WESTERN ACTION 


“1-І reckon you're right," Crockett re- 
plied ашу. Seems like trouble is the 
only thing that ever comes her way. I 
don't purtend to understand God's wis- 
dom, but He has tried her sore." He raised 
his eyes to heaven and whispered a prayer. 

“TI just step out,” Jim volunteered. “I 
know Mother would like to be alone with 
him. If there's anything I can do just call 
me.” 

Montana closed the door after him and 
spoke to the boys. They left at once and 
he went down to put his horse in the cor- 
ral and feed it. For half an hour he busied 
himself doing Brent’s chores, That inde- 
finable air of sorrow and silence which 
seems to brood over a home to which death 
has come had settled on the ranch. 

Even in the barn he could hear Mother 
Crockett's sobbing. Every time it reached 
him his gorge rose against Quantrell. 

“There'll be a showdown some day," 
he promised himself, “and this is just 
something else I aim to remember." 

Dan came out later. He seemed to have 
himself well in hand. 

*Mother wants you to come in and get 
your breakfast, Jim," he said. "It's all 
ready." 

“Now why did you let her do that?" 
Montana protested. “I could have made a 
little coffee.” 

“She wouldn’t have it that-a-way. The 
batter was all made; so she fried some 
cakes for you. She’s lying down now. 
Mrs. Gault ought to be here directly, 
She’s a capable body to have around.” 

“Well, РІ go in if you insist," Jim of- 
fered, “but I’m not hungry.” 

«Међе you'd best make а meal of it, 
Jim," Crockett said. “I’m going to ask you 
to drive to Wild Horse. Be almost eve- 
nin' before you git there. Wouldn't think 
of askin' it of you after your bein' up half 
the night if it didn't seem as though you 
was one of the family." 

“You don’t have to say anything like 


that,” Montana chided him. “I won't 
mind going at all." 
“T knew you'd say that. Mother says 


she'd feel better if we had a minister to 
help lay Gene away. I think Reverend 
Gare would come if you can find him. He 
knows we can't pay much.” 

«РП manage to locate him," Montana 
assured him. *T ought to be back here by 
the middle of the afternoon tomorrow." 

«ІР mean pullin’ out of Wild Horse 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


long before daylight, Jim. I would appre- 
ciate it if you could git here by then. 
Brent and me will make the box. Mother 
wants Gene buried among the trees above 
the Skull. We'll find a pritty spot where 
he'll be comfortable." 


EIGHBORS would dig the grave. 
Later they would carry the coffin on 
their shoulders to its final resting place. It 
was grim, even stark, but their very remote- 
ness from those softening influences of 
civilization permitted no greater ceremony. 
It was seldom indeed that an ordained min- 
ister of the gospel was present to pray for 
the departed and solace the bereaved. 

Dan sat at the table with Montana. 
He insisted on a detailed account of how 
Jim had found the boy. Montana told 
him, making light of his brush with the 
Bar S men. Crockett was strangely em- 
bittered. 

“Т don't blame them so much for what 
happened," he said. “АП these boys know 
how to handle guns. You can't aixpect a 
man to stand up and let them throw lead 
at him without shootin' back. It's one life 
against another. The mistake was in ever 
lettin’ 'em go. Just one man's responsible 
for this—and you know who he is as well 
as I do.” 

сеа got up and pushed his chair 


“You bet I do, Dan,” he said, “and 
рее day I’m going to collect in full for 
i 

Together they hitched a team to a light 
rig. When Jim had filled a canvas water- 
bag and tied it to the end-gate, he was 

ready to leave. 

“The grays wil move right along for 
you," Dan informed him. “If you happen 
to think of it you might buy sunthin? for 


mother. One of them black shawls would 
be nice. Just ask Mr. Ruchter to charge 
it to me.” 


Montana followed the old reservation 
road. It took him south to the Malheur 
and then east by way of the Furnace 
Creek ranch. It required patience and a 
liberal amount of faith to believe that this 
ever-winding road would ultimately bring 
one to Wild Horse. In the rolling hills 
east of Furnace Creek it became a never- 
ending series of switchbacks. When one 
hill was ascended another rose before you. 
Beyond it were a hundred others. From 
the crests, it was possible to look back and 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 41 


locate the spot where you had been an hour 
gone. With all that country spread out 
around you, man suddenly became very 
unimportant, his worries and trials of no 
consequence, 

True to Crockett’s prediction the grays 
moved along without urging. They seemed 
to have sensed that their destination was 
Wild Horse, and they suited their gait and 
stamina to the length of their journey. 

The day was not uncomforably warm 
but by noon the dust-devils were dancing 
in the haze that lay over the hills and 
valleys. It was country with which Mon- 
tana was thoroughly familiar, but as is uni- 
formly the case with outdoor men, each 
new vista held something of interest to 
him. He had the road to himself, and the 
world, too, for that matter, seeing no one, 
save for a glimpse of a distant rider in the 
badlands beyond Cow Creek Butte. 

Only those who are familiar with that 
big country will easily understand his feel- 
ing of complete detachment and the sense 
of pleasant isolation that descended on 
him. He was able to review the events of 
the past few days with startling clearness. 
He had no cause to regret what he had 
done. On the other hand, he found little 
to encourage him. Men could best be 
judged by their past performances, Know- 
ing Henry Stall as he did, he knew the 
Bar S would not give an inch. бепе? 
death would solidify the feefing against 
him below the North Fork. Undoubtedly 
it would lead to retaliation in kind. The 
best he could hope for was that the kill- 
ing of Gene Crockett might so discredit 
Quantrell that the man would no longer 
be an important factor in the struggle. 

He'll be ready with a plausible excuse,” 
he thought, *but people will get the right 
of this affair last night, and some of them 
will be suspicious of him." 

In the late afternoon he caught his first 
glimpse of Wild Horse while still some 
miles from town. The road was down-hill 
now and the horses began to move faster. 
His coming attracted little attention. He 
drew up before the sheriff's office and tied 
the team. Не looked inside for Rand and 
was disappointed to find him out. There 
seemed to be an unusual amount of ex- 
citement around the railroad corrals at 
the other end of the town. He was about 
to walk down when Graham Rand came out 
of the court-house. Graham hailed him 
and they repaired to his little office. 


“Well, we always put on a show for 
you, Jim,” Rand said, jerking his head in 
the direction of the corrals, “What do 
you think of that?” 

“I don't know. What have they got 
down there?” 

“About three hundred head of wild 
horses. A bunch from Boise have been out 
rounding them up. They're putting em 
aboard the cars now. Some Belgian has a 
factory up there and is grinding 'em up for 
chicken meat." 

“The skunks!” Montana muttered an- 
grily. “Only a few wild things left and 
they’ve got to kill them off. I knew they 
were doing it over in Wyoming, but I 
didn’t think they’d be over here rubbing 
it in our nose for a while yet.” 

“T figured you’d feel that way about it,” 
Rand answered. “I guess it’s profitable 
enough, with the hides and the oil; but it 
gets under my skin. We'd never have 
moved into this country or nailed it down 
for our own without horses. I figure we 
owe them a better deal than this. But 
that didn't bring you to town, Jim. Why 
are you here?" 

*Dan Crockett's boy, Gene, was killed 
last night, Graham. ... You act as though 
you knew about it?? 

"Yeah. Reb sent a couple men over 
here all banged up. I got the news from 
them." 

“That’s right," Jim agreed. “Reb told 
me he had them on the way here?" 

Rand's eyebrows went up. Reb?“ he 
queried. ‘You been talking to him?" 

Montana had to explain. The explana- 
tion involved Quantrell. Rand expressed 
his opinion. 

* You want to remember this, Jim; Quan- 
trell isn't interested in anyone but himself. 
He'd sell out his mother. I've known him 
longer than you. He's always been turning 
sharp corners. I knew he was grafting 
when he was freighting for the Govern- 
ment. When he pretends to get excited 
about looking out for other people’s rights 
—watch him; he’s got something else on 
his minds.” 

“That’s exactly what I think,” Montana 
agreed. ‘But it's pretty hard to lay back 
and wait for him to trip himself.” 

“You won't have to wait long,” Rand 
declared. He's always played an under- 
cover game, getting somebody to pull the 
chestnuts out of the fire for him. He's out 
in the open now, and he'll overplay his 


5 


42 


hand sure as you’re born. He’s a tin-horn, 
and I never knew one who didn’t over- 
reach himself." 


ONTANA rolled a cigarette deftly. 
A look of grim determination had 
settled on his face. 

There's no question in my mind but 
that he picked Billy off," he said stonily. 
“T aim to square that some day—and I'm 
not going to wait so long there'll be any 
chance of my forgetting. I don't know 
where this trouble is going to end, but I’m 
sticking to the finish." 

Rand asked about old Thunder Bird, the 
Piute. 

*He's hiding out near the Needles," Jim 
informed him. Plenty Eagles is with 
him." He told Rand how he had met 
the young Indian and what had come of 
it. “For no reason at all,” he added, “I 
haven't got over the idea that the old chief 
knows about what happened to Billy." 

“Tf he does, Jim, you'll have to wait 
him out; he won't tell you until he gets 

ready. Td fix up a gunny sack full of 
grub for him if I thought you'd be going 
up that way before long." 

“I been figuring on taking a pasear up 
there," Montana told him. “Pl just throw 
in with you on what the stuff costs. You 
get it, Graham, and toss it into the rig. 
Ive got a little business to do for Dan. 
If you think the minister is home I'll go 
there first.“ 

“You'll find him home. He's been out 
"haying all week, but he came in this noon. 
Had a wedding over at the church. When 
you get through, come back here; we'll 
have supper together." 

Montana knocked some of the dust off 
his clothes and was about to leave when a 
young man passed by. 
sheriff. 

“There goes your successor, Jim," Rand 
explained with a sly smile. "Нез an East- 
erner; name is Vickers. Not a bad boy, 
but he don’t know anvthing about this 
country.” 

Montana tarried. 

“What does he have to say?” he asked. 

“Not much. He ain’t the talking kind. 
But he dropped something the other day 
that I thought might interest you.” 

“Yeah?” Jim’s eyes narrowed with ap- 
prehension as he gazed sharply at Rand. 
The sheriff’s manner suddenly became seri- 
ous, What was it, Graham?“ 


He nodded to the ' 


WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


*Well—he said the sale of the Reserva- 
tion might be set aside." 

Montana sat down again. “He said that, 
eh?" he queried. “What did he have on 
his mind?" 

“I can't say, Jim. You know that Stall 
and Matlack stand pretty well with the 
U. S. Land Office. Old Slick-ear threatened 
to take the matter to Washington. I reckon 
that’s what his attorneys have done. If 
he can have the sale set aside on the ground 
that you had no right to refuse his script, 
there's going to be hell to pay." 

Montana did not answer at once. 
news was thoroughly disquieting. 

“You couldn't get anything else out of 
him?" he asked finally. 

*No, he closed up quick enough; but 
you can tell when a man knows more than 
he'll say." He paused as he saw the effect 
of his words on Montana. “I wouldn't 
make too much of it, Jim," he went on. 
There's nothing you can do about it.” 

“Except worry," Montana ground out. 
*My God, Graham, this is going to be 
terrible if it comes now. It would have 
been better to let Mr. Stall have the land 
in the first place. I know I was within 
my rights; but apparently that isn't enough 
if the other side has a political drag." He 
got up and took a turn about the little 
room. He stopped abruptly and faced 
Rand. .“Do you suppose this fellow 
Vickers would talk to me?" 

“You know better than that, Jim,” the 
sheriff answered with some feeling. “You 
leave him to me; I'll see what I can do. 
If I get any news I'll manage to get it to 
you at once, even if I have to go over 
with it myself." 

“Don’t forget, Graham,” Montana 
pleaded earnestly. “You know what this 
means to me. In the meantime, all I can 
do is sit tight. If a hint of this reaches 
Squaw Valley they'll follow Quantrell into 
anything." 

'That iron restraint which was so char- 
acteristic of Rand came to the surface now. 

“You never were one to borrow trouble," 
he said casually. “I’ve known you to sit 
tight before without getting jumpy. No 
sense getting buck fever." 

Montana knew his advice was well 
meant. It pulled him up. 

“Tl allow anybody a little ague when 
he gets hold of a wild cat," he smiled. 
“When you're bucking the Bar S you're 

taking in a lot of territory.” Не gave his 


This 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 48 


Stetson a jerk that brought it low over his 
eyes. “ГІ get along now and be back 
as soon as I can." 

He found the Reverend John Gare at 
home as Graham had predicted. He was 
& huge man with the horny hands oí a 


rancher rather than a preacher of the gos- 


pel. He received Jim in his shirt sleeves 
and promptly consented to leave at three 
the following morning for Squaw Valley. 

*You know Dan is pretty hard pressed 
for money," Jim informed him. 

“Say, Montana, there's no price on my 
religion," the big man scolded. “Тһе man 
or woman who wants it can have it for 
nothing or what they want to give. I've 
been putting my brand on the devil for a 
long while, and I’ve enjoyed every minute 
of it. As long as I can stack hay or get 
an honest day's work, I'm going to keep on 
trying to hog-tie that maverick. So you 
rest easy about paying me. If money was 
what Т wanted I perhaps would be running 
a still somewheres. You can see what 
money and greed do. They killed this boy, 
didn't they?” 

“T reckon that answers it in the end,” 
Montana admitted. The Reverend Gare 
was no stranger to him. The man was a 
zealot, but there was no trace of cant about 
him. He was a tireless giant, and he 
threw himself into the task of saving souls 
with all the energy he used in the hayfield. 
His combat with the devil became almost 
a physical battle. When he spoke, a 
stranger would have been hard put to de- 
cide whether he was riding herd on sinners 
or cattle, for his language savoured more 
of the range than. of the vineyard of the 
Lord. 

He would not suffer Montana to leave 
until they had discussed the situation in 
Squaw Valley. Jim was surprised to find 
him so conversant with matters there. 
When he had finished, John Gare com- 
muned with himself for a few moments. 

“I hardly know what word to bring those 
people,” he said at last. “ ‘Vengeance is 
mine,’ sayeth the Lord. Thehy must not 
forget that; but I do not take it to mean 
that when a man is riding an outlaw he 
must sit in the saddle without using his 
spurs until the horse throws him. It would 
appear that they started in using the prod 
at the first buck; and I can’t understand 
that, Montana. They area patient people, 
slow to anger, even though they are the 
sons of feudists—and hard-thinking, too. 


I can understand Quantrell’s influence, with 
his appeal to their prejudice and passion; 
but I cannot understand what his game is 
unless this is a three-cornered fight.” 

The statement was startling enough to 
arouse Jim’s interest. 

“I don’t know whether I follow you or 
not,” he declared. 

“Well, you’ve seen two buzzards fighting 
over a dead rabbit, haven’t you? While 
they’re lambasting each other a third one 
flies off with the meat. Something like that 
may be happening now.” 


T planted an idea in Montana’s mind 
that lingered long after he had finished 

his business in Wild Horse and was en- 
sconced in his favorite chair in Rand’s 
office. He mentioned it to Graham. 

“Tt’s only in line what I said to you this 
afternoon," the sheriff replied. What's 
his game? What's he after? Quantrell 
never was a fire-eater before. Now he sud- 
denly blossoms out as a champion of other 
people's rights. You tell me why and Ill 
give you the answer to all this." 

“І guess that’s it in a nutshell,” Jim was 
forced to agree. I'm not foolish enough 
to think that under cover he is working 
for Mr. Stall. You couldn’t make me be- 
lieve that the old man would stoop to any- 
thing like that.” 

“Hardly. If Quantrell killed the kid he 
did it deliberately, not because Billy was 
trespassing. I’m fool enough to believe 
that he did it for the effect it would have. 
He knew the kid was popular among the 
Bar S crowd. They'd be sure to strike 
back no matter what the old man’s orders 
were." 

*But that was only making the fight cer- 
tain," Montana argued. “Why should he 
have done that? How was he to win that 
way? His game was to hold on to what 
he had and try to avoid a showdown— 
unless he's playing both sides against each 
other." 

*You've put a big if in it now, Jim," 
Rand exclaimed weightily. 

*T don't know about that. I don't think 
it’s such a big if after all. I’m beginning 
to see this better than I did before. With- 
out being able to put my finger on the 
answer right now I'm convinced that John 
Gare was right; Quantrell is out for him- 
self. As soon as the funeral is over Im 
going up to the Needles and smoke the 
pipe with Plenty Eagles and the old man. 


44 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


1f they know anything I'm going to get it 
out of them." 

"It's worth trying," Rand yawned. He 
got to his feet and put his pipe away. 'I 
suppose you're about ready to turn in. 
Three o'clock gets around in a hurry.” 

Jim glanced at his watch. 

“Ten minutes to nine," he announced. 
“Time I was going to bed. Didn't have 
much sleep last night." 

Rand locked the office and they started 
toward the hotel. A light in the court- 
house attracted Montana’s attention. It 
came from the room he had occupied for 
over a year. 

*Vickers is burning the midnight oil," 
he mused aloud. “Га give a dollar to 
know what he’s doing." 

Rand laughed. 

“ТП tell you, and it won't cost you a 
cent, Jim. He's writing to his girl. Does 
it every night. He's talking about bring- 
‘ing her out." They walked on without 
speaking for a moment. 

“Funny you never got taken that way,” 
Graham said without warning. “Always 
figured you would.” 

It gave Jim a start. But Graham had 
no reason to suspect his interest in Letty 
Stall. 

Just goes to show how mistaken a man 
can be,” he retorted dryly. 

“Don’t it. Maybe you’re gun shy—” 

“Maybe I am,” Montana drawled. 


CHAPTER XII 
Номе ON THE RANGE 


EEDLESS to say, the events of the 
night on the creek, which led to the 
killing of Gene Crockett, were 

viewed in quite another light above the 
North Fork. Reb, still smarting from com- 
ing off second best in his encounter with 
Jim Montana, had been summoned to the 
house to make a report. He sat facing the 
old man, twisting his hat and having a very 
unhappy time of it. He was fiercely loyal 
to his men; so if his tale was colored in 
their favor it was no more than was to 
have been expected. It left a lot to be de- 
sired, even to him, and he did not have 
to wait for Mr. Stall to speak to gather 
that he was greatly annoyed. 

“This whole affair has turned out un- 
fortunately for us,” old Slick-ear stormed, 
slamming things about on his improvised 
desk. “І can’t understand why you ever 


let them get across the creek, Mr. Russell. 
I’ve given you men enough to patrol it 
day and night. When we said stay out it 
should have meant stay out!” He blew his 
nose violently as if to give emphasis to his 
words. 

Reb slid farther down in his chair. 

“T wanted to stay inside the law,” he 
said. We couldn't open up on them until 
we caught them trespassing." 

*You miss my point," the old man 
snapped. “I maintain that with a proper 
show of force they never would have 
crossed the creek. We said the North Fork 
was the deadline. They called our hand 
and proved we were only bluffing.“ 

“I don’t know about that," Reb grum- 
bled. “We made it pretty hot for 'em." 

“They accomplished what they came 
over here to do,” Mr. Stall retorted sharply. 
“I do not care about the range they 
destroyed; we can get along without it. 
It’s the effect it’s going to have that counts. 
They'll come again; they've got a double 
incentive now.” 

“You mean the boy, I suppose—" 

“Certainly!” 

Dull spots of color began to stain Reb’s 
cheeks as his temper and righteous indigna- 
tion loosened his tongue. 

“Tt was the only thing we could do, Mr. 
Stall,” he exclaimed with some heat. “We 
gave him better than an even break, but he 
wouldn’t have it. I can’t ask my men to 
stand up and take it just because it hap- 
pens to be a boy who has pulled down on 
them and is blazing away.” 

“Tve no fault to find with that," the 
old man acknowledged. “You were well 
within your rights. You know I am 
against bloodshed if it can be avoided. 
Ever since Sauls was killed I have been 
afraid some of the men would try to avenge 
his death. This affair last night hardly 
comes under that heading; but it will be 
taken that way by the other side. "They'll 
forget that we had men wounded and be 
swayed by the fact that one of their crowd 
was killed. I'm squarely behind you on 
this point; you couldn't have done other- 
wise. But we'l pay for it. We're very 
likely to have a lot of stock killed the next 
few nights." 

“ГІ find a way to stop that," Reb mut- 
tered. 

“І hope so. But remember this, Mr. 
Russell: I don't want a Bar S man south 
of the creek! We'll stick to our own. 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 45 


We can’t lose if we outwit them. We've got 
the water they've got to have. That'll 
decide the issue eventually. We're here 
in Squaw Valley to stay.... But now 
about Montana. Reb began to 
squirm uncomfortably again. How did 
you ever come to let him get the best of 
you like that?” 

«Туе told you what happened,” Reb in- 
sisted. “Тһе boys weren't caught napping. 
They heard Montana coming and thought 
it was me. It’s pretty tough trying to stick 
up an armed man with your finger. I took 
a chance. I thought I was going to get 
away with it; but he called my bluff.... 
I don’t know what else I could have done.” 

“Neither do I,” the old man snapped, 
“but the fact remains that he out-smarted 
you. It would have been better if you had 
taken the boy across the creek and left 
him where they would have found him.” 

] was just carrying out your orders, Mr. 
Stall. You said we were to stay on our 
own range.” 

Old Slick-ear was thoroughly exasper- 
ated. He pushed his chair back and began 
to pace the floor, blowing out his cheeks 
as usual. 

“You needn’t throw my own words in my 
face,” he raged. “When I give an order 
I expect you to use some discretion in 
carrying it out. I’ve had about as much 
of that man as I can stand.” 

“Yeah, I suppose he thinks he is some- 
body, now that he’s got the laugh on us 
again." 

Mr. Stall whirled on him furiously. 

*Don't you make the mistake of under- 
estimating him," he exclaimed, levelling a 
finger at Reb. He's shown me enough in 
the last few weeks to make me wish I had 
never let him get away. Га feel better if 
he wasn’t in this fight. He'll be leading 
them before it's over—and he'll take a lot 
of licking." 

Reb confined himself to a non-committal 
nod. The old man went back to his chair. 

*Going to be a real pleasure to make 
him stub his toe," he said, more to him- 
self than to Reb. He picked up a pen 
and reached for a sheet of paper. It was 
his way of saying the interview was over. 
His foreman started for the door. He had 
just reached it when two riders pulled up 
their horses in front of the porch. 

"Who's that?" Mr. Stall demanded 
brusquely, Reb's surprise being quickly 
communicated to him, 


“Tt’s Miss Letty and Slim Wheeler from 
Willow Vista,” Reb exclaimed. 

“My daughter?” old Slick-ear exploded. 
„What's that girl doing here? Mr. Tracey 
never should have let her come!” 

“Hed couldn't help himself, Father,” 
Letty answered for herself. She threw her 
arms about him and kissed him even 
though he tried to put her off. When he 
saw that I would come, no matter what 
he said, he made Slim ride over with me. 
You don't act a bit happy about seeing 
me," she pouted. "You're cross as a bear.“ 

He waited for Reb to withdraw. 

“Who wouldn't be cross?” he grumbled. 
“Tt’s no place for you, with all this trouble. 
Im surprised you weren't stopped before 
you got here.” 

“We came through the Junipers—had no 
trouble at all,” Letty smiled. 

“Рт glad to hear it," her father fumed. 
“You can return that way.” 

“But Pm not going back,” Letty in- 
formed him coolly. “I brought clothes 
enough along to last me for a week or two. 
I intend to stay here with you, Father.” 


HE turned from him to an appraisal of 

the house. 

"You're going to what?" old Slick-ear 
cried incredulously. Oh, no, you're not, 
Letty! This is one thing I’m going to 
have my way about. Squaw Valley is no 
place for you!” 

“Of course it hardly comes up to Willow 
Vista," Letty trilled, purposely misunder- 
standing him. “But I see you've been mak- 
ing some improvements already. In time, 
and in the right hands, it will be a typical 
Bar S ranch some day—with hot and cold 
water promised. Right now it looks as 
though we're getting ready to film The 
Great Cattle War." 

Old Slick-ear was purple. He banged on 
his desk for silence. 

“See here, Letty!” he boomed, unmind- 
ful of Slim, waiting outside the door. “Will 
you stop this nonsense? You know I’m 
not referring to the conveniences here or 
the lack of them when I say Squaw Valley 
is no place for you. I mean it’s too dan- 
gerous!” 

“Dangerous?” she dared provokingly. 

“That’s the word! Lately you’ve been 
running over me roughshod— This time I 
put my foot down, I won’t listen to your 
staying here. You're going back to Willow 
Vista as soon as you are rested—and that 


46 з WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


won't be later than tomorrow. Do you 
realize that we had a man killed just a few 
days ago? You'll remember him. He used 
to be at Willow Vista. . . . Billy Sauls was 
the man." 

The news worked a startling change in 
Letty. Her father had no need to ask her 
to be serious now. 

*Father—do you mean that, or are you 
only trying to frighten me?" 

“Pd hardly jest about anything like 
that,” he said, his tone milder. Somebody 
picked him off, down at the forks." 

Letty reached for a chair, her knees sud- 
denly weak. She remembered Billy very 
well. For seconds she stared at her father, 
hardly knowing what to say. 

„I-II don't suppose I should be sur- 
prised,” she said at last. I knew things 
must be getting pretty serious here when 
you drew on Willow Vista for reinforce- 
ments. Mr. Tracey said enough for me 
to gather that you were drawing in men 
from some of the other ranches, too. The 
place is an armed camp. . . . But about 
Billy Sauls . . . I remember him. He 
used to be Jim Montana's buddy." 

“I don’t know about that," her father 
grumbled. It's enough that the boy was 
killed. And if you don’t mind, Letty, I 
wish you’d quit rubbing Montana’s name 
under my nose. I’ve had enough of him 
these last few hours." 

“What are you trying to say, Father?” 
Letty asked breathlessly. 

“We had some trouble again last night. 
They came across the creek to fire our 
range. We had some men shot up. It was 
necessary to send them to Wild Horse. 
The other side lost a man . . . others may 
have been injured." 

*But Montana—what did he have to 
do with it? It—it wasn't he who was 
killed?" 

*Hardly—but he had a hand in it." 

.*Oh-h-h!" It was an exclamation of 
mingled surprise and relief. Until now 
she had not known that Jim was in the 
valley, taking an active part in the fight. 
She pressed her father for details. 

*But I'm waiting for you to tell me what 
Jim Montana had to do with it," Letty 
urged. 

*He came over later and—got the boy." 
It came as a véry unpleasant admission. 

«І should say that was nice of him,” 
Letty declared with some feeling. Mr. Stall 
swallowed hard. 


“Maybe you'd better speak to Mr. Rus- 
sell about it," he muttered icily. “He can 
give you the details." 

He got up and went to the door to speak 
to Slim. 

*Better get the saddles off those horses," 
he said. Tell Mr. Russell you're staying 
here tonight. You can bring Miss Letty's 
saddle-bags in." 

Letty Stall had no intention of being 
packed back to Willow Vista.  Tracey's 
efforts to dissuade her from coming had 
only served further to convince her that 
her father was in danger and that her 
place was at his side. She told him so as 
they sat at dinner. 

Mr. Stall refused even to discuss the 
matter. Her presence had had a thor- 
oughly disquieting effect on him. In his 
heart, he felt there was certain to be further 
bloodshed. He didn't want her that close 
to the conflict. There was another reserva- 
tion in his mind, which he didn't care to 
go into. 

“It won't do any good to discuss it,” he 
said with great finality. “This is no place 
for you. It's dangerous and it's apt to be 
unpleasant." 

“But you insist that you are safe here," 
she replied doggedly. “If it’s safe for you 
why won’t it be safe for me?” She smiled 
faintly and waited until she caught his eye. 
“How sure are you, Father, that you are 
not afraid that my being here might cramp 
your style?” 

“Hunh?” he grunted. She had caught 
him off guard and he realized it a second 
later. Even so he tried to cover up by 
pretending not to understand her. 

“Come on, cards on the table!” she in- 
sisted. “I know you'll go a long way to 
win this fight. Sometimes I’m afraid 
you'll go too far. After all, Squaw Valley 
isn't so important; you can get along with- 
out it if you have to." 

Old Slick-ear began to bristle instantly. 

“I don't intend to get along without it,” 
he rasped. “If you came here thinking you 
could talk me into pulling out, you're wast- 
ing your breath." 

Letty had to laugh. He always ran so 
true to form. 

“T agree with you that it would be a 
complete and utter waste of time,” she re- 
plied with a toss of her head. “In fact, 
I’m not sure it isn’t criminal libel even 
to suggest that I would harbor such a 
thought. You have said you will stay— 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 47 


and stay we shall, because the Bar S must 
never lose face. But we will fight fair 
won't we, Father?" 

"Fair?" he screeched. “TIl have you 
know that I'm the fairest man on earth! 
I never overstep my rights!” 

"No, but you always seem to have so 
many rights—and you never fail to exer- 
cise them." 

"Why shouldn't I? 


paying lawyers for." 


ETTY was his daughter and could be 
just as hard-headed as he. 

"Lawyers will never settle this quar- 
rel" she said when she had finished her 
coffee. 

“No? . . . Don't you be too sure about 
that," her father replied mysteriously. 

“Oh, they may win a decision for you— 
in court; but the real decision will be 
settled here. I’m proud of you; I don't 
want any man to take an unfair advantage 
of you. Whenever it's been a fight between 
men, or a battle of dollars and wits I've 
been with you all the way. This time it's 
a little different. Pm thinking of the 
women and children of those men and 
what's going to happen to them." 

"You can't make me responsible for 
them," Mr. Stall answered with fresh in- 
dignation. Don't accuse me of making 
war on women and children. I don't want 
to take anything away from them that be- 
longs to them; and I’m not going to let 
their men folks take anything away from 
me that's mine. If you're trying to fasten 
the blame for this trouble on someone, put 
it on Jim Montana. But for his meddling, 
this thing could have been settled without 
a blow being struck!” 

Now he was only echoing the stand he 
had taken from the first. Letty was hard 
put to hide her exasperation with him. 
What good to remind him again that but 
for Montana’s intervention the Bar S would 
long since have taken possession of the 
entire valley and sent the little ranchers on 
their way with a pittance to reward them 
for their years of toil? 

“Tf you still feel that way, Father,” she 
said, “talk is idle. Without intending to 
do so you are really admitting that it is 
a fight to the finish now.” 

“T hope to tell you it is!” he exclaimed 
with finality. “That’s why you're going 
= back!” 

“That’s exactly why I’m staying,” Letty 


That's what I'm 


corrected him. When those men see how 
desperate the situation is for them, you 
can't tell what will happen. My being 
here may make a difference." 

"Pd like to know how—other than to 
slow me up!” 

“Maybe that's what I mean 

Old Slick-ear gnashed his teeth. He 
wanted to shake her. 

"It may slow them up, too," she went on. 
"I saw enough in Wild Horse to know 
that their feeling against you is personal. 
Someone shot at you in Harney Valley. 
I don't want that to happen again. When- 
ever you leave the house I'm going with 
you—” 

“Oh, my foot!” he burst out furiously. 
“What sort of fool talk is this? A minute 
ago you were talking about fair play. Now 
you propose to have me hide behind your 
skirts. Well, I won’t have any of it!” He 
banged his chair down on all fours as he 
got to his feet. “I don’t know how you 
are going to amuse yourself while you're 
here. I don't want you riding away from 
the house, trying to poke your nose into 
trouble. You are to stay right here, where 
you are safe.” 

Letty tried to interrupt, but he scowled 
her down. 

*My orders to the men will be to keep 
you in sight of the house. If you refuse 
to obey, they will bring you back by force 
if necessary." 

Letty’s eyes snapped. “That ought to 
be interesting,” she said icily She had 
never known him to be so obdurate, She 
dabbed at her eyes, hoping tears might 
melt him. Vou- you seem to forget that 
you are my father—that I love you—" 

It almost had the desired effect. She 
saw him pull at his mustache and knew he 
was wavering. The lapse was only momen- 
tary, for he thrust out his jaw 5 
and reached for his hat, ready to mar 
out of the room. 

“Vour father,” he muttered sarcastically, 
"Hunh! That's what I want to be; not 
your little boy!” 

Left to her own devices, Letty found 
time hanging heavily on her hands. For 
want of something better to do she went 
to the kitchen and baked a cake for sup- 
per. Charlie Chin, the Chinese cook, 
looked on and said nothing. Later, from 
a comfortable chair on the front porch, she 
tried to interest herself in the activities 
of the ranch. A big freighting team pulled 


48 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


in toward evening with lumber for the new 
bunk-house, It created a diversion which 
drew most of the men in sight down to the 
spot where the building was to be erected 
It apparently was of no interest to a man 
squatting on his toes in the shade beyond 
the porch. Letty could not recall ever hav- 
ing seen him before, and the scar on his 


face made it one to be remembered. 


Unconsciously she began to watch him, and 
at the end of half an hour she was con- 
vinced that the man was furtively watching 
her. Suddenly she understood. 

*My bodyguard," she surmised, a frown 
puckering her forehead. Evidently her 
father had meant what he said. “He cer- 
tainly didn't go in for looks when he picked 
his man," she thought. “Хо danger of 
me trying my wiles on this one." 

Just to prove herself correct, she pulled 
on her hat and started across the ranch 
yard. Before she reached the corrals the 
man got to his feet and began moving in 
her direction. 

"There you are!" she said to herself. 
“My man Friday, sure as shootin’!” 

She caught a glimpse of Reb a few min- 
utes later and beckoned him to her. 

*Reb, do I have to thank you or Father 
for the faithful watchdog leaning on the 
corral gate?" 

Reb pretended an utter innocence and 
half turned to see to whom she alluded. 
He saw Johnny Lefleur looking in his 
direction. 

“Him?” he queried, with a stiff little jerk 
of his head. 


“Yes, Handsome Dan,” Letty mur- 
mured with chilling sarcasm. What's his 
name?” 


“Johnny Lefleur—" Reb seemed anxious 
to be on his way, fearing he was in for 
another heckling. ‘Your father said he 
wanted a reliable man.” 

“You did yourself proud, Reb,” Letty 
teased. “ТЛІ return him to you safe and 
sound—” 

“But Miss Letty, you be careful now,” 
Reb warned with great earnestness. “You 
don’t know how serious things is—” 

“Tf I don’t it isn’t because I haven’t been 
told,” she broke in saucily. “I bet you’d 
jump right now if I said boo!” 

“Tf you’d been here last night you 
wouldn’t have found it any joke,” Reb 
sulked. 

“Speaking of last night reminds me,” 
said Letty. “Father told me about Jim 


Montana coming over at daylight to get 
that poor boy. Не said you could give 
me the details—” 


EB ground his teeth together. That's 
just his way of ribbing me," he 
groaned. 

“Well, you seem as unhappy about it 
as he.” Letty was not being facetious now. 
“It was a decent thing to do, and even 
though he is on the other side of this 


‘fight you might have the good grace to 


admit it. Just what happened, Reb?” 

Mr. Russell had difficulty containing 
himself. 

“You see, I’m pretty busy right now, 
ma’am,” he got out nervously. “I really 
shouldn’t be standing here talking away like 
this. It—it wasn’t nothing much. He just 
—came over and got him.” 

It was such a lame answer as to leave 
Letty convinced that she had heard any- 
thing but the truth. But Reb was not 
staying for further questioning. He had 
hailed one of his men, and without waiting 
to excuse himself, had hurried away. 

Letty returned to the porch to ponder 
the question that was troubling her. 
Instinctively, she sensed that Jim had put 
their noses out of joint, and she was deter- 
mined to get to the bottom of it. But her 
surmises got her nowhere. She ended by 
deciding to put a question or two to her 
bodyguard in the hope that he might be 
able to throw some light on the matter. 

In answer to her summons Johnny sat 
down gingerly on the edge of the porch 
and gave her a shy grin. In short order 
she had his name and the fact that, prior to 
signing on with the Bar S at Furnace 
Creek, he had worked for her father at 
Quinn River. Letty felt encouraged. 

“Then you are acquainted with Jim 
Montana,” she ventured almost absent- 
mindedly. 

Johnny shied away as though he had 
stepped on a rattler. 

“You—couldn’t hardly call us strangers 
—after last night,” he muttered sheepishly. 

“Oh, last night, eh?” Letty echoed, her 
tone far less casual than she wanted it to 
be. ou must have been on the North 
Fork.” 

“Yeah, I was one of the reception com- 
mittee,” he admitted without enthusiasm, 
Letty took her cue from it. 

“Evidently you were as glad to see him 
as the others,” 


[4 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 49 


Johnny's protruding Adam's apple slid 
up and down his throat as he gulped back 
his surprise. 

*T—I didn't know anybody was makin’ а 
holiday over it," he stammered. He was 
about to express a further opinion when a 
belated sense of caution made him pause, 
and he fastened his faded blue eyes on 
Letty. *Maybe you're just givin' me a ride, 
ma'am," he said. 

Letty quickly disabused his mind on that 
point. Within ten minutes she had a com- 
plete and graphic story of what happened. 
Her pride in Jim soared. It was easy to 
understand Reb Russell’s perturbance and 
her father's irascibility now. 

“T could have picked him off," Johnny 
concluded, “but as I told Reb, if a gent's 
got guts enough to force a thing like that 
down my throat I ain't agoin’ to wash him 
out just to ease my injured feelin’s.” 

“You'll do to take along, Johnny,” Letty 
said, her eyes misting. She could ap- 
preciate the cool nerve and the danger Jim 
had run. Somehow it was no more than 
she had expected of him, and it warmed 
something in her. But having succeeded, 
he would go on to other undertakings per- 
haps even more hazardous. 

She told herself she could not go back 
to Willow Vista—that she would not. And 
Johnny . . . she had him to thank for 
more than she dared put into words. There 
was nothing about him to suggest that he 
would turn chivalrous under pressure. But 
he had, and Letty could only accuse her- 
self for having scoffed at him. 

“Its just the old story again,“ she 
thought, *of not being able to tell what 
is in a package until you've unwrapped it.” 

She felt she had to be alone for a while. 
As she got up to enter the house she paused 
to say to Johnny: 

“It takes a big man to be generous in 
a situation like that. I won't forget it." 

Her praise bewildered Johnny. But he 
did not try to understand it. 

*Reckon Reb doesn't aim to forget it 
either," he sighed lugubriously. 

S "Why, what has he done?" she asked. 

Johnny found himself in a very embar- 
rassing spot. He dug a boot heel into the 
ground. 

“Not meanin’ any offense to you, 
ma'am," he got out awkwardly, “but you 
know what he’s got me doin’.” 

“Watching me, you mean,” Letty 
nodded. ‘“You—find it so unpleasant?" 


“No, I don’t mind it that way.” Johnny 
found it easier to gaze at the distant blue 
of the Malheurs than meet her eyes. As 
work goes it's easy enough. But—" 

*But what, Johnny?" Despite herself, 
Letty was enjoying his discomfiture. 

*Well, the fact is," he blurted out des- 
perately, *I ain't never been called on to 
play nurse-maid before—” 

*And the boys are rubbing it in," she 
finished for him, her eyes snapping with 
indignation. She could imagine what they 
were saying and it infuriated her, but she 
blamed her father, not the men. He had 
made her ridiculous. 

“I suspect the harm has been done, 
Johnny,” she told him, “‘but if it will make 
you feel any better I can guarantee you 
that your nurse-maiding is just about over. 
It will be as soon as Father comes to the 
house. I'm capable of looking out for 
myself." 

*Gee, I wish you wouldn't say nothin',“ 
Johnny pleaded. I can stand it until to- 
morrow. You'll be going—” 

“But I’m not going!” she corrected him. 
“Ттп staying right here! The Bar S didn’t 
use to be afraid of its shadow. But times 
have changed. We're fighting a man now 
who doesn't give a tinker's dam about the 
pomp and glory of Stall and Matlack, and 
everybody seems to be getting panicky . 
well, you give my regards to Mr. Russell, » 
she finished with killing sarcasm, “and tell 
him to be sure to have the men look under 
the bunks before they go to sleep. Maybe 
they'll be able to get a good night's rest.” 

Head up, she whirled angrily and 
marched into the house, slamming the door 
after her. It was a moment or two before 
Johnny Lefleur could find his tongue. He 
felt a little groggy. 

“Jumpin’ Jee-ru-sa-lem!" he burst out. 
“ТІ tell him, ma’am—I’ll sure tell him 
that!” 


CHAPTER XIII 
Her FATHER'S DAUGHTER 


N the course of an hour, Letty found 
herself with a fine case of the jitters 
on hand, but she was stil as far as 
ever from discovering anything that held 
promise of making her father change his 
mind about her staying. She told herself 
it was a situation calling for desperate 
measures, and she was resolved to stop at 
nothing to win her point. Usually she could 


50 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


wheedle him into anything she wanted. She 
knew she couldn't hope for success that 
way this time. 

Without doubt she would be in some 
danger in remaining there; but not in any 
such measure as he insisted. It weighed 
lightly enough on her. 

“Tt isn’t as though I wanted to stay on 
for the thrill of it,” she protested to herself. 
He'll be more careful if I’m here—and my 
presence may restrain things a little.” 

There was a third and more potent rea- 
son why she was so determined to remain 
at Squaw Valley. If she refused to con- 
sider it now it was only because it fright- 
ened her a little to admit how much Jim 
Montana had come to mean to her. 

Obviously it would do no good to feign 
sickness; her father would have her packed 
out to a hospital at once. She considered 
other subterfuges, but they promised just 
as little. 

“But I will stay,” she insisted stubborn- 
ly, “and without being made ridiculous.” 

It was almost supper time when, from 
her window, she saw her father returning 
to the house. He had been up since day- 
light, but his step was brisk as he crossed 
the yard. There was something about the 
set of his shoulders and head that con- 
veyed to her a sense of his power and in- 
domitable will. 

Letty smiled fondly to herself, for she 
was not only proud of him but in the last 
few minutes she had made up her mind as 
to what she was to do. 

It was only a few minutes before Charlie 
Chin rang the get-ready-for-supper bell. On 
all Bar S ranches it carried a peremptory 
summons. Five minutes later a second bell 
rang: supper was on the table. Тһе food 
was plain, but usually well cooked, and 
there was always enough for all. But there 
was no second table or provision made for 
late-comers. If you would eat, be there 
when the bell rang. If you had been out 
in the hills, rounding up strays, and 
chanced to return late, or were moving 
from one ranch to another and got in after 
things had been cleared away, you went to 
bed hungry. There was a time and a place 
for eating, as there was for everything else 
in the regimented world of Henry Stall, 
and his cooks carried out his orders. 

Old Slick-ear and his foremen always ate 
with the men.  Betty's presence never 
altered that; a place was made for her and 
she took pot luck with the men. 


Having anticipated the bell, she was al- 
most ready to go downstairs when the first 
one rang. She felt refreshed, having man- . 
aged a bath and changed from riding 
breeches to a cool frock. 

Her eyes were dancing as she regarded 
herself in her mirror. She was thinking of 
the men. They could have their laugh at 
her expense behind her back. Face to face 
they were helpless. It needed only a smile 
or the simplest attention to confound them 
utterly. So if she lingered over her toilette 
tonight it was with malice aforethought. 

Her father called to her as she was ex- 
amining her mouth critically. 

«РП be down right away," she called 
back. But she did not go at once because 
she had caught sight of two men riding into 
the yard. They were gray with dust, and 
she knew they had come a long way. One 
of them she recognized as Tiny Melody, a 
Bar S man of long standing. He had a 
leather pouch hung over his saddle bow. 
From it she gathered that he was bringing 
in the mail from Vale. 

It was the other man, rather than Tiny, 
who interested her. She found him strange- 
ly familiar, and before he had dismounted 
recognized in him Seth MacMasters from 
San Francisco, one of her father's at- 
torneys. That he had journeyed so far 
from home and made the long ride in from 
Vale hinted that his business there must 
be of the most urgent nature. 

Not only was her curiosity instantly 
aroused but she was conscious of a feel- 
ing of alarm. Surmising that she would 
get no information from her father con- 
cerning the secret mission which had 
brought MacMasters there, she hurried 
downstairs, hoping to overhear enough to 
give her some hint of what had brought 

m. 

She heard her father's exclamation of 
surprise as MacMasters entered. Certainly 
he had not expected him. 

“T had expected a letter, or even a wire,” 
he said, “but to see you in person, Mr. 
MacMasters—” 

“It’s been an experience, coming here," 
the lawyer laughed heartily. “I never 
thought I'd be able to get out of that sad- 
dle unless you got me a derrick; but when 
your man, Melody, heard the bell and be- 
gan to put on the pressure, I found I was 
hungrier than I was sore. I hope I’m here 
in time." 

“Just in time... . Nothing wrong?” 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 51 


“Quite the contrary,”  MacMasters 
beamed. “TI need you in Vale tomorrow 
afternoon. Judge Robbins will wait for us. 
I have some things to discuss that I didn’t 
want to put on paper." 

Old Slick-ear thought he understood now. 

“Then you've heard from—” 

“Ves, and very promising news," his 
lawyer broke in. He had caught a glimpse 
of Letty Stall on the stairs. He turned to 
her with outstretched hand. “This is a 
surprise all around, I think,” he smiled. 
“T hardly expected to find you here, Letty.” 

“Т only arrived today," she told him, 
“and I’m leaving tomorrow. Father in- 
sists on it, and I dare say he’s right." She 
had overheard every word they had spoken, 
but she was as much at sea as ever. Al- 
though she was addressing herself to Mac- 
Masters she managed a furtive glance at 
her father. He was having a hard time 
hiding his surprise over her apparent 
change of mind. 

“Undoubtedly he is right," MacMasters 
said. He had caught Letty's glance at her 
father, and knowing them so well, was not 
fooled by either. “It can't be particularly 
pleasant for you here right now. The girls 
have gone down to Carmel for the summer. 
Why not join them for a few weeks?" His 
daughters were Letty's age, and they were 
fond of one another. 

“Sounds promising," she smiled inno- 
cently. “I had thought of going back to 
Willow Vista, but you are making me 
change my mind. If Father thought it 
safe for me to go out to the railroad I be- 
lieve I'd go." 

Old Slick-ear jumped at the chance she 
was offering him. He wanted nothing bet- 
ter than to have her back in California. 

“I wouldn't want you to go out by the 
way of Wild Horse," he said, but we'll be 
going to Vale early in the morning. You 
could go with us, Letty." 


HE hesitated, as though rolling the mat- 
ter over in her mind. It was quite 
convincing. 

“Well—I think Il go with you," she 
said finally. “You can have Mr. Tracey 
send my trunk down from Willow Vista." 

“Don’t worry about that," her father ex- 
claimed brusquely. That wil be taken 
care of." He turned to MacMasters. “If 
you want to knock a little of the dust off 
you and wash up we'd better get at it. You 
can step into my room,” 


the bread." 


Knowing the routine of the Bar S 
ranches as well as anyone, he spent only a 
minute or two in refreshing himself. When 
he rejoined them he offered Letty his arm 
and they went into the dining-room. 

Instantly all eyes fell Mr. Stall sat 
down at the head of the table, with his 
foreman at his left and Letty to his right. 
MacMasters found a place next to Reb. 
The attorney remembered Reb and shook 
hands with him. The men had suddenly 
become tongue-tied. Letty's presence alone 
would have embarrassed them to silence. 
She and MacMasters together—they had 
learned about him from Tiny—were just 
too much for them. 

It was strange what a serious business 
they could make of eating. The food was 
on platters. Some of it had to pass a long 
way. A man would look up and say, “Pass 
Instantly his eyes would re- 
turn to his plate. The bread would start 
moving, and eventually he would help him- 
self to it. No one bothered to say please. 
Possibly because when they said, “Раѕѕ the 
bread," or Pass the beans," it was а com- 
mand, not a request. They were stark 
sounds, rising above the clatter of knives 
and forks. 

Mr. Stall and MacMasters had very lit- 
tle to say themselves, and that little con- 
cerned such casual things as the market 
and the political situation. Letty lost in- 
terest in them and applied herself to her 
promised revenge. It was not difficult for 
her to surmise which of the men had started 
the laugh at Johnny Lefleur's expense. Ike 
Sweet, who had been with Johnny on the 
North Fork, and Kin Lamb were un- 
doubtedly the guilty ones. They were 
seated within striking distance. Letty sin- 
gled out old Ike. 

He seemed to feel her eyes on him. She 
could see his neck redden. 

“Please pass the hors d'oeuvres," she 
asked him. 

Ike stiffened, but he did not look up. 
He knew she was speaking to him. The 
men on either side of him only ate more 
rapidly. Letty repeated her request and 
continued to stare at Ike until he had to 
look up, a look of dumb wonder on his 
face. 

I'm sorry," she smiled sweetly. 
pickles, please—" 

In his anxiety to get them to her swiftly, 
Ike almost upset them. Mr. Stall and 
MacMasters missed this by-play. The 


“The 


52 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


others were keenly aware of it, for all that 
they ate on with stony faces. Indeed, this 
was something that was destined to follow 
Ike for some years to come. 

Kin Lamb, across the table from Ike, 
was enjoying it to the full behind his sullen 
mask until Letty suddenly tumed on him 
and began to bombard him with requests 
to pass one thing after another to her until 
her plate was piled high with more food 
than she could have consumed in several 
days. Without any effort on her part she 
could have reached out and taken the 
dishes he offered, and he would not have 
had to extend himself. But that was not 
part of her plan. She made him half arise, 
and then thanked him so fulsomely that 
after a few minutes he gulped down a cup 
of coffee and bolted from the room. Some- 
one tittered. It was Johnny Lefleur. Letty 
gave him a knowing wink. It so embold- 
ened him that he looked Ike in the eye 
and said, “Pass them ore-dough pickles.” 

Ike could have killed him with pleasure. 
Letty suspected as much and enjoyed it 
accordingly. 

Supper was no sooner over than Reb be- 
gan dispatching his men to the front, 
spreading them out along the North Fork 
and west of the Big Powder, north of 
Quantrell’s line. 

While her father was conferring with 
Reb and acquainting him with the fact 
that he was leaving for Vale in the morn- 
ing, to be gone at least forty-eight hours, 
Letty sat on the porch with MacMasters. 

It was a witching hour, the whippoor- 
wills calling plaintively as they sailed over 
the sage. The Malheurs and the Juniper 
Hills were deep purple blurs. The valley 
itself was majestically beautiful in the 
mauve and lavender afterglow. 

With all the cunning she could command, 
Letty tried valiantly to draw from the 
lawyer the reason for his presence. She 
failed dismally, MacMasters turning her 
queries with ease born of long professional 
experience. 

When old Slick-ear came in, he bundled 
her off to her room with scant ceremony. 
He was anxious to hear what MacMasters 
had to say. 

They talked for a long time. It was 
after nine when Letty heard them saying 
good-night. Her light was out, but she 
was not asleep. From her window she had 
a distant view of the North Fork. The 
moon had risen and the night was so bright 


that she could see an incredible distance. 

She found her thoughts turning to Jim 
Montana. He was sound asleep in Wild 
Horse at the moment. She didn't know 
that; and not knowing, she thought only 
of the danger he might be in. MacMasters' 
sudden appearance was linked in her mind 
with the mysterious remark her father had 
made that day anent the courts still having 
something to say about this struggle. What- 
ever the move was, it was evidently coming 
to a head even sooner than her father had 
figured. That it could portend anything 
but ill for the other side seemed a fore- 
gone conclusion. 

It distressed her to have to admit that 
her sympathies were not with her father. 
It savoured of disloyalty, and she re- 
proached herself bitterly. But that did not 
alter the case. 

“I can't help feeling they are the under- 
dog in this," she thought. “The Bar S is 
rich and powerful; they're poor and help- 
less, in a way. Doesn't seem to be the 
sporting thing to crush them." 

She and Montana viewed the struggle in 
quite the same light, yet it did not occur 
to her that his championing of their cause 
had influenced her at all. 

“There are rights involved here which 
the law may not recognize," she mused on; 
"but they are rights, just the same. Jim 
recognized that, I wish I could do some- 
thing to help him,” 


HE night was very still. Several times 

she listened carefully, but the vagrant 
breeze brought no sound of strife to her 
ears. It was nearing midnight before she 
closed her eyes and slept, a prayer for 
Jim's safety on her lips. 

Her father rapped on her door at half 
past five. At six o'clock they were having 
breakfast. Reb came in. The night had 
passed without a shot being fired. 

“Don’t take anything for granted while 
I'm gone," the old man warned him. “ТТІ 
be surprised if you don't hear from them 
before I get back." 

In a few minutes they were ready to 
leave. Vale lay beyond the Malheurs, to 
the northeast. There was no road. The 
trail they followed had been used for years. 
Over it the corral poles and fence posts 
used on the ranch had been snaked down 
from the foothills. 

At first they rode abreast. The air was 
keen and bracing, MacMasters found the 


i GUARDIANS OF THE SAGH 58 


scene inspiriting. Old Slick-ear was in а 
congenial mood. Letty seemed in the best 
of spirits, keeping up a running fire of 
conversation with them as opportunity per- 
mitted. 

In the course of an hour the brush and 
clumps of willow along the dry wash of 
what in early spring was a flowing creek, 
leading to the Big Powder, began to bar 
the way. They strung out in single file, 
and Letty managed it so she drew up in the 
rear. For seconds at a time they were 
out of sight of one another. 

Not more than fifteen minutes had 
passed when Mr. Stall and MacMasters 
heard Letty scream. They looked back to 
see her horse rearing and plunging back 
over the trail they had just come. 

They wheeled their horses at once and 
took after her. Screened by the willows, 
she pulled her pony up, dropped the reins 
over his head and flung herself on the 
ground. 

It was only a minute before they found 
her. Her eyes were closed and she was 
groaning piteously. Her father leaped out 
of his saddle and cradled her head in his 
arms. If she could have seen his concern 
she undoubtedly would not have had the 
courage to carry through her deception. 

*Letty—" he called. Are you hurt?” 

“I guess she’s fainted,” she heard Mac- 
Masters say. The two men were bending 
over her. 

Letty opened her eyes slowly, a look of 
pretended pain twisting her lips. Her 
father was somewhat relieved. He asked 
MacMasters to get his canteen. He held 
it to her lips and made her sip a little 
water. 

*What happened?" he demanded anx- 
iously. 

“My horse almost stepped on a rattler,” 
she lied convincingly. “1—1 wasn’t ready 
for it.“ Her voice sounded very weak and 
faint. 

“Well, are you hurt?” 

“My ankle—” she groaned. “It’s driv- 
ing me mad. I—I'm afraid you'll have to 
cut my boot.” 

Mr. Stall soon had the boot cut away 
so it could be removed. Letty obliged with 
a heart-rending groan as it came off. 

«ТЕ doesn't look swollen,” her father said 
when he had removed her stocking. 

“ТӨП begin to swell іп a few minutes,” 
MacMasters put in, having been complete- 
ly deceived. “You were lucky not to get a 


broken leg. We ought to bind it up right 
away." 

Letty told them there was a skirt in her 
saddle bag that would serve the purpose. 
They got it at once and tore it into strips. 

*Not so tight, Father!" she protested as 


old Slick-ear bound the ankle. “Are you 
sure it isn't broken?" 
“Why, no,” he grumbled. “It’s just a 


little sprain.” He had begun to realize 
what a predicament he was in. Obviously 
Letty could not go on to Vale with them. 
He would have to take her back to the 
ranch and leave her there. He turned to 
his attorney. “This complicates things for 
us, Mr. MacMasters," he said. “It doesn't 
look as though we could possibly get to 
Vale before evening now. We are going to 
lose two or three hours at best. We'll have 
to return to the ranch." 

“Naturally,” MacMasters said with good 
grace. We can save a few minutes if we 
get started at once." He turned to address 
Letty. “Do you think you can stay in 
your saddle if we lift you up? We'll walk 
the horses." 

“ГІ take her up with me," her father 
suggested. “It'll be easier on her and we 
can make better time." He chewed at his 
mustache as usual when greatly perturbed. 
“Т didn't want you to stay at the ranch,” 
he told her, “but it looks as though there 
were nothing else to do now." 

Letty gazed up at him with well-simu- 
lated agony. 

*Father—I don't want to stay at the 
ranch," she sighed. “If you could get a 
rig we could drive out —" 

* We'd have to go all the way around by 
Iron Point," he cut her off. ^It isn't to 
be thought of. I’m due in Vale this after- 
noon. Yesterday you insisted on staying; 
now you won't have it.” He shook his 
head hopelessly. “І can't understand you 
at all. If you have to stay at the ranch, 
you can do it, can’t you? It isn’t so bad 
as that.” 

“But there’s nothing to do. I thought 
it would be exciting. And the men—they’re 
all laughing at me behind my back.” 

“What?” he exploded. “Laughing over 


what?” 
“Over my chaperon. . . . As though I 
were a child! I heard what they were say- 


ing. Calling him my nurse-maid! I won't 
stand it, Father! І refuse to stay there!" 

“Now see here, Letty,” he grumbled, “no 
sense making a mountain out of a mole 


54 WESTERN ACTION 


hil. If you have to stay there for a few 
days you will I’ve got a right to expect 
some co-operation from you. As for hav- 
ing a man to watch you—I did it only 
because I was afraid you'd get adventurous 
and run into trouble. You'll not be able 
to do much running about now; so PH put 
you on your own. Р! send а note to Mr. 
Russell.“ 

Letty gave in grudgingly. When she 
finally said yes he gave her hand a little 
pat of affection. 

“TIl bring you ап armful of books and 
magazines,” he promised. It may be some 
me you'll be able to leave.” 

eir return to the ranch was of neces- 
sity slow. They had returned to within 
two miles of the house when old Slick-ear 
saw one of his men, off to the east. He 
hailed him. 

“If you could go in with him,” he sug- 
gested to Letty, we could save an hour. 
You'll find some liniment and arnica in my 
room. You'll be able to do about as much 
for yourself as I could." 

Letty propped herself up to get a glimpse 
of the oncoming rider. She was delighted 
to discover that it was Kin Lamb. 

“Гуе made you trouble enough, Father," 
she sighed. There's no need of making 
you go all the way back to the house." 

Kin's face fell when he learned that he 
was to carry Letty back to the ranch. But 
an order was an order. 

They transferred her to his horse, and 
Letty took a death grip on him. Her father 
warned him to be careful of her. 

“Ves, біт,” Kin muttered. The “sir” in 
itself was proof enough of his agony. 


HEY parted a few minutes later and 
soon lost sight of one another. Letty 
heaved a sigh of relief. She had won hands 
down, and her cup was still brimming over. 
She tightened her hold on Kin and pillowed 
her head on his shoulder. 
“Maybe I best leave you here and fetch 
a rig if you're feelin’ so bad,” he suggested 
desperately. In a quarter of an hour they 
would be approaching the house. He dread- 
ed being seen with Letty Stall draped over 
him, her arms about his neck. 
"Itl be better if we don't stop,” Letty 
insisted. “I—I’m not you, Kin?" 
“Oh, no—not at all,” he drawled un- 
. His face was beet red. 
"Pl feel better when I get to the 
house—” 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


“So will I,” he thought. The boys would 
be working on the new bunkhouse. They’d 
all be there to observe him. 

Letty knew what was running through 
his mind. As they drew nearer the yard 
she snuggled even closer to him. 

I'm afraid I'm a terrible nuisance,” she 
purred, ‘Making nurse-maids of all of 

ou 

The barb that lay in her words sunk 
into Kin's consciousness with a savage 
plunge. 

The reception that awaited them meas- 
ured up fully to Kin’s worst expectations. 
In a dead silenee they rode past the new 
bunkhouse, and Kin looked neither to right 
nor left. 

Reb appeared just as they reached the 
house. He carried Letty inside. 

Maybe I'd ought to carry you up to 
your room,” he suggested. 

“No, I can limp up all right,” Letty 
smiled. ‘You might get the arnica for me 
from Father’s room.” 

Reb obliged. Letty took it, and hand- 
ing him the note her father had sent, be- 
gan te limp up the stairs, leaning heavily 
on the railing. 

Reb had finished reading Mr. Stall’s note 
and was regarding her with growing amaze- 
ment. Letty was limping perfectly, but 
she was favoring the wrong foot. Light 
began to break on Reb as his nimble brain 
pondered the fact. 

“You'll be stayin’ then, I guess,” he said 
stonily. 

“For a while," Letty answered without 
looking back. 

“I thought so," Reb йна knowingly 


. to himself, 


CHAPTER XIV 
“VENGEANCE Is Mine!” 


FAINT breeze stirred the aspens to 

murmurous lamentation as the Rev- 

erend John Gare stood at the head 
of the freshly made grave on the hillside 
above the Skull and consigned all that was 
mortal of Gene Crockett to the dust of his 
fathers. 

The house had proven far too small to 
accommodate the crowd that had come for 
the funeral. At Gare’s suggestion they had 
held the services in the yard, under the 
big cottonwood. He had spoken at length, 
interlarding the sonorous phrases of the 
Bible with she homely wisdom of one who 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 55 


really knew how to reach their hearts. 

He did not torture Mother Crockett and 
Dan by attempting to eulogize the boy. He 
spoke of God’s mercy; of the strange ways 
in which He brings his miracles to pass. 

A blanket had been thrown over the 
rough pine box which Dan and Brent had 
built for Gene. Gare stood beside it, the 
black-bonneted women and sober-faced 
men ringed about him in a half circle. His 
frock coat, long since faded to a dull bottle 
green, his shaggy hair and unbuttoned shirt 
did not detract from the magnetism of the 
man. He had brought the Word to them, 
and they listened with bowed heads. 

Mother Crockett; tearless now, hung on 
his words. Gene was having a Christian 
burial, and it fortified her. Dan stood on 
one side of her, Brent on the other, clasp- 
ing her hands. 

Montana told himself he would never 
forget that picture. He was humble in the 
face of their fortitude. It was that very 
quality which had first won him to them. 
From within themselves, they had drawn 
strength with which to go on. 

Ministers are all too prone to ignore the 
struggles and worldly problems that afflict 
their parishioners. Not so John Gare. He 
could have avoided any mention of the con- 
flict in the valley; but he felt it to be his 
duty to speak of it. In blunt words he 
warned them to beware of false prophets. 
He counselled peace and patience, echoing 
the very things Montana had advised. 

Quantrell had come, bringing his men 
along. They stood a little apart—a hard- 
faced crew. Jim felt the big fellow’s stare 
and met his eyes squarely, reading their 
message of implacable hatred. 

If Gare had mentioned Quantrell by 
name his reference to false prophets could 
not have been more pointed. The crowd 
understood him. There was no dissenting 
murmur. Even the boys who had ridden 
with Gene gave no sign of disapproval. 

“Knowing that I brought the minister 
from Wild Horse, Quantrell will figure T 
told him what to say,” Jim thought. He 
was little concerned about that. He had 
sensed a studied coolness on the part of 
the crowd toward the big fellow. It was 
almost more than he had dared to hope. 
He surmised that Quantrell had feared it, 
otherwise he would hardly have brought 
his men with him. 

The shadows were growing long before 
the Reverend Gare made his final appeai 


to them. He quoted from Romans, Chap- 
ter 12: 

* *Avenge not yourselves, but rather give 
place unto wrath: for it is written: Venge- 
ance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. 

“ ‘Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed 
him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so 
doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his 
head.“ 

In homely words he translated those sen- 
tences into a rule of conduct for them. 

When he had concluded, the coffin had 
been placed on the shoulders of Gene’s 
companions and carried to the little dell 
among the aspens where they stood now. 
Gare spoke briefly. Catching Dan’s eye, 
he signalled for him to take Mother 
Crockett back to the house. 

The crowd opened up for them to pass. 
They had almost reached the farther edge 
of it when Mother Crockett saw Quantrell 
standing before her. 

“Come on, Mother,” Dan urged softly 
as he felt her pause. ‘You'll feel better 
if you can lie down for a while.” Some 
sixth sense seemed to warn him of what 
was to occur. 

Mother Crockett stopped and levelled 
her red-rimmed eyes at Quantrell. The 
crowd held its breath. They saw a harried 
look flit across his face. 

„I'm awful sorry, Mother—" he started 
to say. Her eyes stopped him. 

*Can you give me back my boy?" she 
demanded stonily. “You took him. But 
for you he'd be alive this minute." 

Dan pleaded with her to continue on to 
the house. 

*You jest got to kinda keep it in, 
Mother," he said. 

Mother Crockett put him off, 

“No, Dan’el. I’ve got su'thin' to say, 
and there'll never be a better time fer sayin' 
it." She took in the assembled crowd in 
a sweeping glance. “Үош all can lissen to 
me—you men partic’lar. Most of you are 
blood kin of mine; so I got a right to speak 
to you.” 

There was a tragic deliberation about 
her that gripped even the children and com- 
pelled them to silence. 

“We didn’t have nuthin’ when we come 
to this valley. By hard work we pros- 
pered here. Now we're apt to lose it all; 
and yet you stand by and let this man turn 
your heads and our boys’ heads with his 
high and mighty talk about what he’s 
agoin’ to do. We knew him when he was 


56 WESTERN ACTION 


freightin’ to the Reservation. He had a 
ranch here then—if you could call it that 
—but he wa’n’t one of us then and he ain’t 
one of us now.” 

Quantrell couldn’t hold his tongue any 
longer. 

“Reckon you’re pretty excited, Mother 
Crockett,” he exclaimed, trying to hold his 
voice steady, but you're heapin’ it on a 
mite strong. The boys shouldn't have done 
this without me. You know my horse went 
lame—" 

“Too bad he didn't go lame before he 
fetched you here today," Mother Crockett 
answered stoutly. “I came to Squaw Val- 
ley in a covered wagon, with a pot and 
pan or two, and I'll leave here the same 
way before I'll see my men folk beholden 
to you for anythin’. You put one of my 
boys in his grave, but you’re not agoin’ 
to put Brent there. Now you git offen 
the ranch, and don’t ever let me sot eyes 
on you аріп!” 

John Gare and Montana glanced at each 
other with peculiar satisfaction. The situa- 
tion was moving to a climax much sooner 
than they had supposed possible. Mother 
Crockett had unwittingly forced a show- 
down. In a few seconds they would know 
the true temper of the crowd and exactly 
where Quantrell stood. 

The moment was not without a certain 
element of danger, although Montana con- 
sidered it rather remote. He knew there 
were some among those present who would 
line up on the big fellow’s side. There was 
evidence that others were through with him. 
Quantrell's conduct depended on the turn 
of the balance. . If he found the majority 
against him he would have no alternative 
but to exit as gracefully as he could. If 
sentiment favored him, he would remain 
to make the most of his victory. 


T had come so suddenly that it took a 
moment for opinions to crystallize. 
Quantrell essayed a smile of confidence, but 
his eyes were shifting about uneasily. His 
men had edged perceptibly nearer him. 
They were armed—apparently the only 
ones present who were. 

The tension increased as old Lance Mor- 
row stepped forward. In addition to his 
five sons there were a dozen other Morrows 
in the valley. As the head of his clan he 
was a man of importance. Montana con- 
sidered him the bulwark of Quantrell’s 
strength. If the old man had not openly 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


espoused the big fellow’s plans he had, at 
least, lined up squarely with him on one 
thing; namely that since this must be a 
fight to the finish nothing was to be gained 
by waiting for the other side to bring the 
fight to them. 

Quantrell took confidence. His eyes lost 
some of their harried look. 

“I don’t aim to stay where I ain't 
wanted,” he declared with a mirthless grin. 
“Tf there’s some feeling against me here I 
reckon I know who Гуе got to thank. If 
he can get us quarrellin’ among ourselves 
he’ll be doin’ just about what he’s been 
plannin’ to do all along. Some hard words 
has been said to me, but I’m big enough to 
overlook them, though no man likes to 
feel he’s bein’ run out. I—I reckon there’s 
no danger of that happenin’—” 

To his surprise it failed to win a mur- 
mur of approval. Old Lance’s eyes had 
narrowed to slits. Nancy Crockett was his 
niece and the blood tie outweighed any con- 
sideration he might otherwise have shown 
Quantrell. 

“You heard what she said, didn’t you, 
Clay?” he asked, his tone cold and uncom- 
promising. She asked you to go.” 

It came as such a complete surprise that 
Quantrell could not hide his chagrin. 

“Hits neither the time ner the place for 
argufyin," Lance warned him. ‘“Mebbe 
you meant well, Clay, but some of us think 
you went behind our backs in gettin’ our 
boys mixed up in this. We can talk that 
over later. The thing for you to do now 
is to go as peaceable as you can.” 

It was a slap in the face that staggered 
Quantrell. John Gare had made his way 
to Montana’s side. 

“Tf he blows up there’s going to be trou- 
ble,” he warned Jim. “Be ready for it.” 

“Don’t worry," Jim replied, Quantrell 
isn't going to lose his head. He's too саву 
for that. A show of temper now and he's 
in the discard. He'll try to save his face 
some way. Lance left him a 1 ole.” 

The next few seconds saw “Jim proved 
correct. Quantrell strove to dissemble his 
rage and humiliation. His men didn’t know 
what to make of it. 

“Don’t worry about me,” they heard him 
say. “I didn’t come here to make any 
trouble. I only wanted to pay my respects 
to Gene and you, Mother Crockett. I 
wanted you to know I feel just as bad 
about this as the rest of you. If I could 
change places with that boy in his grave 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 57 


yonder I'd do it in а minute. I realize 
you're all upset now and feel hard toward 
me; but when you get your second wind 
and have time to think things over you'll 
look at it a little different. 

“І came into this fight on your side, and 
Em goin’ through right to the end with 
you. If ever I can do anythin’ to help 
you, just call on me. Anythin' I got is 
yours for the askin’.” 

Mother Crockett, leaning heavily on 
Dan, waited until Quantrell and his men 
had started for their horses before she suf- 
fered her husband to take her on to the 
house. 

Now that the services were over the 
crowd made no move to depart. Living 
apart as they did it was only the burying 
of a loved one, or perchance a wedding, 
that permitted them to gather together as 
they were today. The women folk, especial- 
ly, saw too little of each other. They be- 
gan to draw apart now, the men moving 
toward the corral. Knowing that the Rev- 
erend Gare would be spending the night 
with the Crocketts, they looked forward to 
hearing him speak further. He not only 
had come a long distance, bringing them 
the news of Wild Horse and the world be- 
yond, but he had a practical knowledge of 
husbandry, with all the vexing problems it 
brought them, even to being able to diag- 
nose the condition of an ailing calf and 
prescribe the best treatment for tick fever. 

Montana had lingered behind, a little be- 
wildered at the turn events had taken. He 
refused to believe the rebuff Quantrell had 
just received would deter the big fellow for 
long. z 

“But it may trip him at that,” he 
thought, “because it’s going to hurry him, 
whatever his game is. He won’t sit around 
waiting for something to happen.” 

He was still fifty yards from the house 
when he saw Quantrell and his men riding 
toward him, evidently leaving by way of 
the Skull, although they had ridden in from 
the north. Jim felt it was a meeting that 
could accomplish nothing and he chided 
himself for not having kept out of the 
man’s way. Now that it was unavoidable 
he met it without fear or favor, continuing 
on as though Quantrell did not exist. 

The big fellow pulled up his horse and 
threw the animal across Jim’s path. There 
was no need for him to cover up now. His 
face was livid with rage. 

«І can thank you for this,” he snarled. 


“You can if you care to,” Montana an- 
swered coolly, “but you may be flattering 
me. 

Quantrell ripped out an eath. 

I'm puttin’ it on the fire along with a 
few other things I got cookin’ for you, 
Montana,” he ground out furiously. “Pll 
be dishin' them out to you one of these 
days." 

"Be careful you don't burn your fingers 
on em, Jim said easily. 

He could hear the big fellow cursing as 
he rode away. 

“Got a bad taste in his mouth, all right,” 
Montana murmured to himself. ‘You'd 
have hydrophobia if he bit you tonight.” 

He found the men grouped about John 
Gare, listening intently as the minister 
harangued them. At last the setting sun 
warned them that they must be getting 
home. The men began to round up their 
families. Abel Morrow, one of old Lance's 
married sons, spoke to Gare. 

“Knowin’ you was comin," he said, “we 
brought the baby over with us. We been 
aimin’ to take him into town to have him 
christened ; but all this trouble comin’ 


u 
Why, sure, Gare laughed. Where is 
the little slick-ear? Ill put the brand of 
the Lord on him. You don’t want a 
maverick running around the house.” 


HE mother soon appeared, the women 
folk trooping after her, and the baby 

was christened. Immediately afterwards, 
they began to set out for their homes. 

“Fine people, Jim,” Gare said as he and 
Montana sat together on the bench outside 
the kitchen door. This country is going 
to settle up in time and their grandchildren 
are going to be the ladies and gentlemen 
of it." 

Their conversation drifted to Quantrell. 

“You smoked him out,” Jim said. ‘The 
seed you planted this afternoon bore fruit 
in a hurry.” He was thinking of what 
Mother Crockett had done. 

Wasn't any more than you've been tell. 
ing them," Gare insisted. 

“They wouldn't take it from me.” 

“You don't always know what they real- 
ly think, They respect you, Jim. You’ve 
done а lot for them—more than they real- 
ize—and you've got small thanks for it. 
But your day will come. If they win this 
fight they'll have you to thank." 

This was richer praise than Montana felt 


58 WESTERN ACTION 


he deserved. He was saying so when Dan 
came out to tell them supper was ready. 

“T didn’t want Mother to speak so sharp 
to Quantrell,” Crockett said to them. “But 
I’ve had time to think it over and I’m glad 
She did. It sorta clears the air.” 

It was agreed that Brent was to drive 
Gare back to Wild Horse. Jim took Dan 
into his confidence regarding his projected 
trip to the Needles, and in the morning, 
shortly after Brent and Gare pulled out, 
he saddled a horse and crossed the Skull. 
His way lay westward then until he had 
left even Big Powder Creek far behind. He 
was climbing steadily. 

As usual the high places, with their wide 
panoramas, fascinated him. He pulled up, 
and tossing a leg over the horn of his sad- 
dle, smoked a contemplative cigarette. 
What John Gare had said about this coun- 
try being settled some day came back to 
him. Sitting there, with a territory almost 
as large as some of the New England states 
unrolled before him, he found it hard to 
believe. And yet, he had seen benchland 
nesters moving into country back in Idaho 
that was just as big—plowing the trails 
under and planting them to wheat. 

“Scarcity of water will keep them out 
of here for a long while," he mused. “A 
railroad will find it an expensive job throw- 
ing a line through these hills. Until that 
happens this country isn't goingtochange." 

He had been in sight of the Needles for 
half an hour, even though they were still 
eight to ten miles away. He contemplated 
no difficulty in locating Plenty Eagles and 
his father. With typical Indian caution, 
they might have decided that the old cabin 
was too exposed and not have remained 
there; but there were only three or four 
places where they could find water. He 
was sure to pick up their trail at one of 
them. 

He had just emerged from a patch of 
scrub cedar and was well across a little 
mountain meadow, knee-deep in grass, 
when he jerked his head around and looked 
back, feeling that he was being watched. 
He was too far away from the trees to 
make out anyone lurking there, but well 
within range of a high-powered rifle. Giv- 
ing his horse the spurs he soon topped the 
rise ahead of him. “I’m going to be sure 
about this,” he promised himself. With 
that in mind he made a circle that would 
bring him back to the meadow at the point 
where he had just left it. 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


It took him a quarter of an hour. He 
was rewarded by finding the tracks of a 
shod horse stamped upon those his own 
pony had made a few minutes past. He 
slipped out of his saddle and went ahead 
on foot, his rifle in his hands. He had not 
gone ten yards before someone hailed him. 
He raised his eyes to the rocks ahead and 
saw Plenty Eagles awaiting him. 

There was an amused twinkle in the 
young Indian’s eyes. He knew he had sur- 
prised Montana. 

“Very easy picking you off from up 
here,” he said, his teeth gleaming whitely as 
he grinned. 

“I knew I wasn’t alone,” Jim smiled. 
“But why are you trailing me?” 

“Not knowing it is you until you cross 
the meadow. My pony stumble in the 
brush.” He permitted himself a chuckle. 
“You hearing him all right,” he declared. 
“You move fast; pretty soon you hard to 
find.” 

*[ just lit out on a little circle to find 
out what was what,” Jim acknowledged. 

“Not good for circle down-hill,” said 
Plenty Eagles. “Ме, if I was Quantrell, 
be just too bad for you. Thinking you 
more careful.” 

“T guess it was a tenderfoot trick,” Jim 
was compelled to admit. What's this 
about Quantrell? Has he been up here?" 

Plenty Eagles shook his head. He had 
been down below repeatedly, watching 
Quantrell, but he would not admit it. 

*Just thinking you better be watching 
out for him," he said. “Not seeing any- 
one up here except a Bar S man and a 
girl.” 

It startled Montana, but as he stared 
at the Indian understanding dawned in his 
eyes. 

“A girl?” he queried. ‘You mean Letty 
Stall?” 

“Same one who was in Wild Horse with 
the old man," Plenty Eagles explained. 

“Rode in from Willow Vista,” Jim 
thought, his mouth unusually grave as he 
considered the dangers to which she was 
now exposed.’ It passed belief that Mr. 
Stall had given permission for her to come. 
She had made this decision herself. 

He told himself she was being foolhardy; 
and yet, it was no more than he could 
have expected. He could surmise the rea- 
sons that had prompted her to come—and 
it did not occur to him that he figured in 
them at all. 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 59 


“When did you see her?” he asked. 

“Day before yesterday. I follow them 
for long time. Know you not wanting any- 
thing happen to her.” 

Montana was not prepared for such 
shrewd observation. He could feel his ears 
burning. Gratitude tempered his annoy- 
ance; the boy had done him a service. 

“You did well, Cola," he said and then 
turned the conversation abruptly by ask- 
ing about the boy’s father. 

“Oh, he liking this place,” said Plenty 
Eagles. Not staying on cabin. Make 
wickiup by Antelope Springs—you know 
that place, eh?” 

Jim said that he did. 

„All the time when my father young man 
coming there for hunt," the boy went on. 
*Still some meat up here." 

«Гуе got some grub for you,” Montana 
informed him. I was over in Wild Horse 
a day ago. Rand and I got a bagful of 
things together for you." 

Long experience with Indians had taught 
him that gratitude usually rendered them 
inarticulate. Months later, when he had 
quite forgotten some trifling favor, he had 
often been reminded that they had not 
forgotten. 

It was so now. The young Piute just 
grinned, and obviously embarrassed, turned 
to find his pony. 

“I want to make talk with your father,” 
Montana told him, His blood was flowing 
faster. He found a new tang in the air. 
It was strange that the mere presence of 
Letty Stall in Squaw Valley could so affect 
one who believed himself so far removed 
from her thoughts. 

With Plenty Eagles leading the way they 
rode on. Jim was satisfied to trail along 
with his thoughts for company. When they 
reached the old cabin below the Needles, 
he saw the Piute draw up and wait for him. 

“You stil thinking my father know 
somethings about who killed your friend, 
eh?" he asked without preamble of any 
sort. Montana purposely withheld his an- 
swer for a moment. 

“I think he does,” he said finally. “From 
his perch up there at the mine he could 
see what went on below him, Being afraid 
that Quantrell or his men might find his 
hide-out, he'd have been watching them 
p .. . Have you been talking to 

im?” 

“Yeh, but so old man hard to make him 

understand,” Plenty Eagles pressed his 


knees into his horse and went on. It put 
such an abrupt end to their conversation 
that Montana wondered about it. 
“Doesn’t look as though he was going to 
help me very much,” he thought, giving the 
boy a shrewd glance. “Something worry- 
ing him. He wants to talk, but he’s afraid.” 


HEY found old Thunder Bird basking 

in the sun. Jim raised his hand to 
sign to him that he came as a friend. The 
old brave’s wrinkled face remained an in- 
scrutable mask. 

Plenty Eagles spoke to his father in 
Piute. 

“Ai—” the old man grunted. 

“Telling him you came to have big talk 
with him,” the boy explained to Montana. 

“No hurry about that,“ said Jim. То 
prove it he told Plenty Eagles to take the 
bag he had brought and then proceeded to 
yank the saddle from his pony. When he 
had spread a blanket he began to draw 
forth from the bag the treasures he had 
brought. Old Thunder Bird’s face lighted 
up when Montana placed before him a 
pound of tobacco, 

“Tobacco . . . good!” he grinned. 

“And here’s a new pipe to go with it,” 
Jim went on, as pleased as the old man. 
He had brought sugar, coffee, flour and a 
side of bacon, but it was the sight of a 
can of syrup that completely broke down 
Thunder Bird’s reserve. He picked up the 
little cabin-shaped can and fondled it as a 
child does a toy. 

“Never paying you for all this,” Plenty 
Eagles declared solemnly. 

“Cola, my heart is full for you and your 
father; so is Rand’s, yet you talk of paying 
us. I come to your wickiup to spread the 
robe and smoke the pipe, and we are one.” 

He found the old man more pliable than 
he was the day he had taken him from the 
mine. It was not always possible for him 
to understand whether Thunder Bird un- 
derstood him, even though he regarded him 
intently, trying to read the little fleeting 
glimpses of emotion that flitted across his 
weather-beaten face. 

He talked at length, moving to his point 
by indirection. After he had told them 
about Gene Crockett’s death, he touched 
the subject that had brought him there. 
Immediately Plenty Eagles addressed his 
father. Jim would put a question and the 
boy would talk to Thunder Bird. If the 
old man answered at all it was to his son. 


60 WESTERN ACTION 

Montana understood a few Piute expres- 
sions but he could not follow them. He 
felt he was not getting anywhere. Half an 
hour passed without producing the slightest 
information. 

“Too old,” the boy shrugged. “Not re- 
member so much." 

Jim hid his sense of failure. The thought 
had grown on him that Plenty Eagles was 
really keeping the old man írom telling 
what he knew. When he had spoken to 
Thunder Bird before the old man had been 
able to make himself understood without 
his son's help. 

He said nothing at the time but ate a 
bite with them and after smoking a ciga- 
rette or two prepared to leave. He said 
farewell to the old man, and, accompanied 
by Plenty Eagles, started for the valley. 
When they reached the cabin, the boy 
pulled up. Не was turning back there. 
Montana had waited for this moment. 

*Plenty Eagles—why are you afraid to 
let your father talk to me?" 

*Not afraid," he said. 

“Cola, your tongue is not straight now,” 
Jim chided him. “I can read your eyes, 
and I know what I say is true. Vou have 
talked to your father and he has told you 
what I want to know." Montana was only 
voicing a surmise. The effect it produced 
in the boy prompted him to continue. “My 
heart bleeds for your father. I will not see 
him go hungry. When the winter comes he 
will be warm. Nothing he could tell me 
would bring trouble to him.” 

It moved the boy. 

“Tt is true,” Plenty Eagles murmured. 
“He has spoken. If I am afraid it is for 

m » 


him. 

*[ promise you no trouble will come to 
him," Jim repeated. *. . . Was it Quan- 
trell?” 


“Not knowing that. It was so: My 
father is hiding in the mine. Quantrell 
and some of his men are there; building 
the gate. A man comes and tells them 
there is Bar S men in the cañon. Quantrell 
he say, ‘This what we been wait for. We 
start ball rolling now." ” 

Ves Jim prompted. “What did they 
do?” 

“They riding away together. My father 
is watch, He see them come out on the 
rimrock. In few minutes he hear a rifle. 
They come back, then; but Quantrell is 
not with them.” 

“No, he went on to the meeting at the 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


Box C," Montana muttered. If he had 
needed proof to convince him that what 
Rand and Gare and he had been, thinking 
was true he had it now. 

“Тһе chance they had been waiting for," 
he mused bitterly. “А chance to start the 
ball rolling—to make the fight a certainty 
by killing Billy!” 

He realized that he would likely never 
know who actually shot the boy. But here, 
as in the case with Gene, the crime could 
be placed at Quahtrell’s door. 

“PIL never forget this, Plenty Eagles,” 
he said. “You are my brother." 

*Quantrell no good," the young Indian 
murmured thoughtfully. “Better you let 
me kill him before he make more trouble. 
. . I have plenty chance." 

Montana knew the depth of the feeling 
that had prompted the boy to speak. He 
put his hand on Plenty Eagles' shoulder. 

*You get that idea out of your mind, 
Cola," he said. “This is sorta up to me.” 

“T be watching him just the same.” 

“T don't object to that. If you run into 
something that looks queer, you get word 
to me. He's angling for something, and 
he can't get it without showing his hand." 


CHAPTER XV 
Lonc RIDERS 


HEN Brent Crockett returned from 
Wild Horse he brought a letter from 
Graham Rand. Rand wrote he had 
talked to Vickers, the new agent, and had 
not got anything further out of him. The 
man had left for Vale. But he was often 
up there, and Graham did not consider it 
had anything to do with the Squaw Valley 
sale. He ended in characteristic fashion: 
“Undoubtedly I’ve been worrying you 
about nothing at all. So forget it. If I 
keep on this way Ill soon be taking in 
knitting. ГІ manage to keep you posted 
—about Vickers and not the knitting.” 
There was an apparent contradiction 
there that struck Montana at once. He 
could smile over Graham's letter, but his 
fears were not allayed. 'The days that im- 
mediately followed brought no new threat 
from above the North Fork, and а dozen 
times Jim wondered if their inactivity had 
any connection with news from Washing- 
ton. 
Quantrell did not come to the Box C 
again. One evening Brent rode over to 
Lance Morrow's place. He came back with 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 61 


word that Quantrell had been there, talk- 
ing to the old man. He claimed to have 
had an offer from Stall and Matlack for 
his property, 

“He told Lance that he’d turned it 
down," Brent informed them. Claims 
he'll never sell out to the Bar S." 

“Don’t you believe it!” Montana scoffed! 
“He’d sell out in a hurry if he got an offer 
—and the price was attractive. I’d have 
to see the offer in writing before I'd admit 
he had one." 

Crockett disagreed with him. 

“That’s goin’ pritty far, Jim," he argued. 
“I ain't got no love for Quantrell, but I'm 
not goin' to let that run away with my 
judgment. If they could grab Quantrell's 
place it would be just puttin' on the vise 
a little tighter. I’ve never said nothin’ but 
I've wondered once or twice if somethin’ 
like that wouldn’t happen. I don’t see 
why you figure they wouldn’t make him an 
offer. What’s your argument?” 

“Dollars and cents! I never knew Henry 
Stall to give a man a profit when he had 
the whip hand. Quantrell’s got some water, 
but it’s hard to get at. He’s been frozen 
out of the Big Powder. It just don’t make 
sense to me, Dan.” 

“Just the same it would be a blow to us 
if Quantrell sold out,” Crockett murmured 
glumly. It would be pritty discouragin'. 
First thing you know someone else would 
be takin’ the bait. You got to give the 
devil his due, Jim. Think what you will 
about the man, but if he sticks with us 
we got to be big enough to appreciate it.” 

Jim let it go at that. Despite all that 
had happened he could see that Dan still 
had faith in Quantrell. Undoubtedly the 
others had, too. 

“Tf you talk loud enough and long 
enough you certainly can fool a lot of peo- 
ple," he summed up to himself. 

With Gene gone there was more work 
for all hands. A brief hour of relaxation 
after supper and they were ready for bed. 

One evening late in the week Jubal Stark 
rode in. There was an air of being the 
carrier of important news about him. 

“Well, I guess they're at it аріп,” he 
declared. They're runnin’ off our stock 
now." 

Crockett put down his Bible. 

“You mean that, Jubal?” 


“Course I mean it!” his visitor exclaimed . 


with asperity. “They cut out ten or twelve 
head of Quantrell's yearlin's yesterday. To- 


day they were in my stuff. I jest thought 
Pd warn you as I have the others." 

Mother Crockett came into the kitchen. 
Jubal was her cousin. His news had to 
be repeated to her. 

“What you said the other day about 
leavin' here in a covered wagon, Nancy, is 
jest what we'll be doin’, I reckin,” Jubal 
declared. They burned down my house 
and now they're runnin’ off my stock. I 
tell you things is gittin’ desperrit. Hits all 
right to talk about the Lord havin' his 
vengeance, but I don't figger we're sup- 
posed to let another outfit rob us blind." 

*But what makes you so certain the Bar 
S got your yearlings?” Jim asked. He knew 
he was venturing on dangerous ground in 
putting the question to a man as bitter and 
excited as Jubal Stark. He saw him bristle 
with indignation. 

*Don't you come any of that on me, 
Jim!” he exclaimed angrily. “I wouldn't 
put anythin’ past that bunch. Old man 
Stall is out to break us, and he don’t care 
how he does hit!” 

“He'll run you out if he can, but he 
won’t steal your cattle.” 

Crockett shook his head hopelessly. 

“Т don’t know, Jim," he said. “It’s hard 
to believe, but who else could be doin’ it?” 

“Tt’s up to us to find out. Give a rustler 
a little rope and he’ll trip himself every 
time.” 

He felt nothing was to be gained by 
voicing the suspicion that was surging 
through his mind. He had been waiting 
for Quantrell to show his hand. Here was 
his play. As Montana put together the 
pieces of the puzzle that had been intrigu- 
ing him for days he knew there could be 
little doubt of it. 

“They’d likely run me out of the valley 
if I said what I’m thinking,” he admitted 
to himself. “It’s a case of catching Quan- 
trell with the goods now.” 

The following day Joe Gault reported 
that the rustlers had taken toll from him. 
It happened repeatedly. "Тһе men met one 
afternoon at Lance Morrow’s ranch. Mon- 
tana went with Dan. He was not sur- 
prised to find Quantrell there, talking as 
loud as ever. 

A dozen men spoke. Everyone accused 
the Bar S. They were in no mood to listen 
to anything to the contrary. 

“You were told to wait until they 
brought the fight to you,” Quantrell de- 
clared, his eyes seeking Jim, “Well, it's 


62 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


here now, ain’t it? You got what you were 
waitin’ for. What are you goin’ to do 
about it?" 

There's only one thing to do," Joe 
Gault called out. “We got to hit back. 
Cattle can be raided north of the Fork 
just as easy as below." 

„That's plain talk," Jubal Stark said. 
It's what we should do. Them that thinks 
so step this way!" 

Some hesitated, but it was only for a 
moment or two, until Dan and Montana 
stood alone. 

“If you feel they're right—that it's the 
thing to do—you join 'em, Dan," Jim ad- 
vised. “Т don't want you to hold back on 
my account." 

*No," Dan said thoughtfully, *I'm not 
ready for that yet. I never rustled another 
man's stuff, and I ain't agoin’ to begin now. 
I've fought cattle thieves before and wiped 
'em out without turnin’ rustler myself. You 
know where the law is in this country; it 
ain't on our side. If I catch a man with 
one of my steers in his possession 111 know 
what to do; so will you. We got to sleep 
on our rifles and ride these rustlers down. 
We can do it if we pull together. Until 
we've tried it and failed we shouldn't be 
thinkin' of turnin' thief." 

They were the sanest words that had 
been uttered there, and although Quantrell 
decried them and Jubal Stark insisted on 
fighting fire with fire, the meeting broke up 
with the understanding that, for the pres- 
ent, as many as could would meet every 
evening at Jubal’s ranch and ride until 
dawn. 


T was a victory for Crockett, but Jim 

felt they were wasting their time. Quan- 

trell was a party to their deliberations and 
could easily avoid them. 

True to what Jim had predicted to him- 
self, they rode for three nights without 
encountering anyone. Quantrell and some 
of his men rode with them. It seemed to 
have the desired effect; no more stock was 
run off. 

Dan was about to congratulate himself 
on their success when the rustlers moved 
across the Reservation, The blow fell 
heaviest on the Box C. 

“They must have got fifty head of my 
best yearlin's," he computed after a care- 
ful checking. He returned to the house 
and refused to speak to anyone. By supper 
time he had himself in hand. 


“Т reckon I was wrong, Jim," he said. 
We've got to give them the same medicine 
they're givin' us. You can't say I haven't 
been patient. I wanted to be fair, but I'm 
at the end of my rope." 

“A rope is what we ought to have around 
their necks," said Brent. 

“T know how you feel,” Jim declared. 
“You're fighting the Bar S so it's only 
natural for you to lay your troubles to 
them; but I'm not no more ready to be- 
lieve right now that Henry Stall would run 
an iron on another man's stuff than I was 
a week ago. He might cheat you legally, 
but this is just a cut beneath him. I'm 
not going to say anything more. You do 
as you think best, Dan, and I'll string along 
with you." 

They were out day and night now, work- 
ing in shifts. It was no easy task for two 
or three men to ride herd in an unfenced 
country like that and see everything. 

In the early afternoon, after they had 
been in to water, the cattle would move 
back into the hills. You couldn't keep 
them in sight always. 

Early the following week, Montana was 
on the day shift with old Ben. Taking it 
for granted that the cattle were safe enough 
out in the open, he had left Ben on the 
Skull and climbed the rocky saddle that 
fell away to the Big Powder on the west 
and the Skull to the east. Stretched out 
in the mahogany brush, he had an unob- 
structed view of the country east and west. 
Below him was a steep cutbank. 

A faint breeze rustled the sage. The 
blue sky was cloudless. His horse grazed 
a short way off. 

It was a day for dreaming. He was not 
roused. out of his lethargy until he caught 
a brief glimpse of four horsemen to the 
north. They were on the same ridge with 
him and moving his way. 

It was enough to make him sit up alert- 
ly. They were too far away to make 
recognition possible. 

“This may be interesting,” he mused. 
“Tf they aren't trying to hide out they'll 
get off the ridge before they get down this 
far." 

Although he continued to scrutinize the 
hills and the draws, he failed to get an- 
other glance at them. Twenty minutes 
passed, time enough for them to have hove 
into view. 

“They must be down below,” he thought. 
He crawled up to the edge of the cutbank 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 68 


and scanned the country beneath him. He 
quickly located the four men. They were 
following an old cow trail through the high 
sage. In a few moments he recognized 
Quantrell, Shorty and two others who had 
been among the bunch at the mine that 
day. Тһе trail they were following would 
bring them directly beneath him in ten or 
fifteen minutes. 

Montana could not repress a grunt of 
satisfaction. His suspicions were rapidly 
crystallizing into fact. Four men, off their 
own range, skulking through the brush was 
almost circumstantial evidence enough to 
convict, with things as they stood. 

Their manner was tense and furtive. 
They were almost below Montana when 
Quantrell raised his hand and called a halt. 

We'll hole up here for an hour,” he 
said. After we hobble the horses, we'll 
climb this bank and lay out.” 

With the odds four to one against him, 
Jim knew he had to make his presence 


known while the advantage of his position : 


was still in his favor. 

“Come on, sit steady!” he called out. 
“And mighty careful with the hands!” 

The gleaming of his rifle barrel told them 
where to find him, Quantrell’s mouth fell 
open in dismay for a moment. 

"You're taking a mighty big chance, 
aren't you?" Jim drawled chillingly. 
“You’re a long ways from your own range. 
Can't be looking for strays today." 

Quantrell found his tongue. Don't give 
me any of your lip!” he bellowed. “We 
got tipped off that we might find a couple 
of Bar S hands down this way. Reckon 
we almost found one." 

It won a mocking laugh from Montana. 

“The next time you get tipped off to 
anything you want to have witnesses," he 
said. “Now you turn your horses toward 
the Powder and get across. If you don't 
move fast enough to suit me, I'll find а 
way to hurry you up a little. Vamos, 
sefiors I 

They went. Three hundred yards away, 
Quantrell glanced back. “Га like to pick 
him off up there!” he growled. “I wonder 
how much he heard?” 

“Enough,” Shorty muttered viciously. 
“We sure stubbed our toe that time. The 
quicker we git him the better off we'll be.” 

“You said it!“ Quantrell agreed. “Тһе 
best thing we can do is to start talkin’ 
about it before he gets the chance. We 
can circle back east of the creek below 


Stark’s place. We'll stop there and chin 
a little. Montana can't prove anythin’.” 

Jim watched them until they were across 
the Big Powder. 

“There goes your rustlers,” he muttered. 
“Tf they’d only gone on a quarter of a mile 
instead of pulling up right here, I'd have 
caught them red-handed. . . . I wonder 
what Dan's going to say about this,” 

Crockett was too surprised to have any- 
thing to say for a few moments. 

They talked for an hour. 

“Tt gets to this," Jim concluded. Quan- 
trell has set us at each other’s throats. I 
happen to know that his outfit got Billy 
Sauls. I didn’t say anything at the time, 
but the day after Jubal -Stark’s house 
burned, I trailed a rider almost to Quan- 
trell’s range before I lost the tracks. Every 
move he’s made has looked queer to me. 
Look at his outfit. How can he afford to 
hire seven or eight men?” 

“Tt don’t look right,” Dan admitted. 

“РІ say it don't. If I could have got 
off that bank this afternoon without giving 
myself away I would have had proof 
enough for you. I tell you, Dan, you don't 
know for a fact that Bar S has ever had 
a man south of the North Fork. Quantrell 
has always been rushing you into trouble. 
While you were fighting each other he was 
going to run off with the cream. He's been 
doing just that. The nights he rode with 
you no stock was run off. When he had 
you scouring the country south of the Fork 
he slipped down into the Reservation and 
did his stuff. It was a pretty safe game." 

“Well, I don’t know what to think," Dan 
declared. “I want to be right this time. 
You said something about knowing that 
his bunch got Billy Sauls. You mind sayin' 
how you know?” 

“It’s breaking a confidence to tell you, 
but I know it's safe enough with you. I 
told you why I went to the Needles. Well, 
I got the information I was after. Old 
Thunder Bird's story would convict them 
in any court.” 

Montana’s patience was wearing thin. 
He crushed his cigarette between his fingers 
and tossed it away. 

“You say you don’t know what to think, 
Dan,” he went on. “Well, I’m asking you 
—do you believe Quantrell was way down 
in the Reservation, on your range, looking 
for a Bar S man in the middle of the 
afternoon? Hobbling their horses and lay- 
ing out! Laying out for what? Why did 


64 WESTERN ACTION 
they want to hole up right there You 
know why! Your steers were just below 
the saddle!" 

Dan communed with himself for a 
moment, 

. “There ain't nothin’ else to think," he 
said gravely. He's guilty as hell!“ 

“You bet he is! There's only one thing 
more I want to know." 

* What's that?" 

“Tf the Bar S hasn't been losing stuff, 
too. If they have, the case against Quan- 
trell is complete. I aim to find out, Dan. 
I'm going up there in the morning and see 
the old man himself." 

*Lord sakes, Jim, don't be a fool!" 
Crockett exclaimed. “Why, if you're 
caught comin’ or goin’ you'll have some 
explain’ to do! It would look like you 
were double-crossin’ us, jest as Quantrell 
has been sayin’. You'd be lucky if you 
didn't find a rope around your neck!" 

“It’s a chance, but I'm going to take it. 
It will mean a lot to you and I reckon it 
will mean even more to me." 


CHAPTER XVI 
DANGEROUS GROUND 


AN CROCKETT tried to dissuade 
Montana írom trying to see old 
Slick-ear. 

*Somethin's sure to happen to you, and 
I don't want to feel responsible, Jim,” he 
pleaded. “Suppose we say nothin’ fer a 
day or so about your having seen Quan- 
trell. He may come again.” 

*You don't savvy him at all, Dan, if 
you think that," Montana disagreed. “I’m 
on my own in going up the Big Powder. 
I could have killed Quantrell yesterday and 
have gone free for it. But that wouldn't 
satisfy me. I'm going to tumble him into 
the dust before I step on him. If I can 
talk to Mr. Stall I can hurry that day 
along." 

He went back to the Reservation to re- 
lieve old Ben for a few hours. Later, 
without any sleep, he set out for the north. 
By daylight he was at the forks. He tar- 
ried awhile. Nothing had changed since 
he had last been there. Half an hour later 
he continued up the Big Powder. 

Once well across the Bar S line, he 
climbed out of the creek bottom and took 
up a point of vantage where he could com- 
mand a view of the creek. Cattle were 
moving in to water. He knew someone 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


would be along shortly. It was safer to 
wait and hail a man than to walk into 
trouble. It was his intention to ask for 
safe conduct to the house. 

The morning wore on, however, without 
bringing anyone. He had been waiting 
over three hours when he caught the sound 
of a shod hoof below. ‘The rider crossed 
a break in the willows. He saw then that 
it was Letty Stall. 

Even though he knew she was in Squaw 
Valley, mecting her so unexpectedly shook 
him out of his habitual calm. Uncon- 
sciously a sigh escaped him. He had told 
himself countless times that she was as far 
removed from him as the stars and quite 
as unattainable. And yet, mere sight of 
her was enough to unnerve him. 

He hardly supposed her to be alone, 
two or three miles from the house, He 
waited, expecting to see a Bar S man ride 
into the open; but Letty had crossed the 
break and no one rode after her. It wes 
only a minute before he saw her again. 

* Wouldn't think Reb would let her come 
down this far alone," he thought. “She 
still rides well.” Inevitably, memory of 
their long rides together at Willow Vista 
came back to him. 

Undoubtedly, she would resent his in- 
trusion, but he felt there was too much at 
stake to hang back. With his heart beating 
rapidly, he retraced his way to the creek 
bottom and walked his horse out into the 
open. 

Letty saw him presently. The color left 
her cheeks as she recognized him. Jim 
reined in beside her and swept off his hat. 

*Ma'am, you shouldn't come down so 
far. It isn't safe." 

Letty found him thinner than usual, but 
self-Conscious as always in her presence. 
It pleased her to pretend an aloofness. 

“You are trespassing, not I," she said, 
her blue eyes inscrutable. “I didn't know 
you were making war on women. I thought 
you were confining yourself to men and 
cattle and destroying other people's range." 

“T reckon you've got a pretty hard opin- 
ion of me," he murmured unhappily. 
“Folks don't always see things alike. What 
I've done I did because I thought it was 
right. There's been killing and destroying 
of property on both sides. It hasn't been 
any of my doing. I know what you folks 
up here think of me. It isn't so much dif- 
ferent down below. I seem to be taking 
it on two sides." 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 65 


That's the usual fate of martyrs, isn’t 
it?” she queried. “I suppose you realize 
you might have some trouble explaining 
your presence here if Reb or the men found 
you. They have orders to shoot first and 
inquire afterwards. Something has to be 
done to stop this rustling.” 

She saw him stiffen at the word. 

“That’s why I am here,” he declared 
frankly, “I wanted to find out if you were 
losing stock, too, This fight can be 
stopped. I've got to see your father, 
ma’am. If he'll talk to me, something may 
come of it.” 

His sincerity touched her. In the face 
of all that had happened, she still believed 
in him, despite her father’s enmity. 

„He'll not be pleased to see you," she 
told him. “Не holds you responsible for 
all his difficulties here in Squaw Valley. 

Montana did not surmise how staunchly 
she had defended him against her father's 
attacks, or to what lengths she had gone 
to remain in the valley. 

“J suppose he thinks we are rustling his 
cattle." 

“Naturally—” 

“And down below they think he’s getting 
our stuff. Can’t you see how absurd it is? 
I’ve got to talk to him, ma’am!” 

“He’s at the house,” she said. “I can’t 
promise you much, but if you'll tighten 
my mare’s cinch I'll take you to him.” 

Jim slipped out of his saddle and helped 
her down. She felt his hand tremble on 
her arm. For a moment their eyes met. 
A sigh escaped her. It would only have 
taken a word for them to have reached an 
understanding. But Jim looked away to 
hide his embarrassment. 

“Like old times, isn’t it?” she murmured 
hurriedly. But then, I don't suppose you 
ever think of them.” 

“I do, ma’am,” he said awkwardly. If 
she only knew how often he thought of 
them! 

“Letty is my name,” she murmured, her 
eyes glowing with mischief. “You used to 
call me Letty—when we were alone.” 

Jim gave the cinch a savage tug. He 
was suffering exquisite torture. Letty sus- 
pected it and was happy. A hundred little 
things told her he loved her and was too 
shy to say it. 

"Its—dangerous down here,” he said. 
“You don’t often ride so far alone, do 

u?“ 

“Hardly,” Letty smiled, thinking of the 


subterfuges. she had to use to get out of 
sight of the house. Father says I shouldn't 
be here at all.” 

“That’s one thing we can agree on,” Jim 
murmured. 

“Oh—you’re not glad to see me then?" 

*I—I'm awfully happy to see you, Letty. 
It’s just that I don’t want you to get into 
trouble. . . . I knew you were here.” 

Letty’s eyes sobered as a thought dis- 
turbed her. 

“Then you've been up before 

“No. Someone saw you when you came 


-in—beyond the Needles. This is only the 


second time I’ve set foot on Bar S range. 
The other time I—had a few words with 
Reb.” 

“I know about that," Letty murmured 
softly. “I love the way you belittle it. I 
thought it was very brave of you to come 
over and get that boy, knowing you were 
apt to be killed.” 

“Someone had to come. . . . I don’t 
suppose it set very well with your father." 


ETTY laughed lightly. 
"You know him too well to make 
that question necessary," she said. 

“І guess that’s so," Jim answered mood- 
Пу. Everything I do seems calculated to 
make hard feelings between us. After Wild 
Horse and the trouble here I wasn't any 
too sure you'd speak to me. I figure a 
man has to play the game as he sees it. 
Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing 
by getting into this fight. Then again, 
when I see what losing it is going to mean 
to them, I’m glad I did." 

I'm afraid they are going to lose,” Letty 
= aloud, “Father seems so cocksure 
ately.” 

„He'll find them hard to whip.” 

“That’s the pity of it, isn’t it, Jim?” 
Her eyes were wistful. “I know the mother 
of that boy will never forgive us. They 
must hate us. . But there was 
Billy—” 

“They had nothing to do with that, 
Letty. Billy was murdered. . , . I'll be 
settling that before long." 

“You know who did it?” 

“1 know, all right. That's just another 
reason why I want to see your father. I 
can set him right about several things." 

Letty was suddenly silent. Jim was con- 
scious of it. 

Maybe you'd like to be going," he said. 
“Р help you up.” 


66 


She shook her head. 

“Jim—I don’t want you to get in trouble 
over Billy. It would be so easy for some- 
thing to happen. . I couldn't stand 
that—" 

A pleasant feeling of confusion stole 
through Montana. He could feel the pulse 
in his throat throbbing violently. 

*Reckon nothing’s going to happen," he 
was finally able to say. “When the show- 
down comes you couldn't expect me to 
walk away from it. I'm sorry I men- 
tioned it; but I'm pretty full of thing." 
In an effort to turn the conversation into 
pleasanter channels he asked about Willow 
Vista. 

*Hasn't changed a bit since you left," 
she murmured absent-mindedly. She knew 
his code; its glorious courage and the 
quixotic, even absurd, inhibitions it placed 
on him.  Undoubtedly he had said he 
would avenge Billy. Having said it he 
would go through with it, regardless of dan- 
ger, believing his self-respect depended on 
keeping his word. Nothing she could say 
would dissuade him. 

“You still ride that big savenna I broke 
for you?” he asked. 

“Tve got him down in California now. 
I call him Mesquite.” 

“He should have developed into quite a 
horse." 

*He has. We're great pals. In the win- 
ter, when I know I'll not be coming back 
to the desert for months, I get all choked 
up with loneliness. I tell Mesquite all 
about it. He seems to understand. Guess 
he gets lonesome for the high places, too, 
sometimes. You never get away from this 
country, so you don’t know how homesick 
the smell of sage-brush can make you. Mr. 
Tracey shipped me a box full last fall. You 
should have seen Mesquite’s ears stand up 
when he got a whiff of it.” 

Jim decided the conversation had not 
taken a more pleasant course. The thought 
of Letty Stall, down in California, sur- 
rounded by the luxury her father provided, 
among cultured men, so unlike himself, 
made her seem even more remote. 

He helped her into her saddle and fell 
in beside her, stealing sly little glances at 
her mobile lips and softly curving throat. 
It was like old times, siding her over the 
hills. It almost made him forget the seri- 
ous mission that brought him there. 

From across the creek, two men watched 
them until they passed out of sight. They 


WESTERN ACTION NOVBLS MAGAZINE 


had been watching Montana for half an 
hour. The little red-haired one glared at 
the big man at his side, 

“Why'd you knock my gun down, Clay?” 
he demanded angrily. “I could ’a’ picked 
him off easy!" 

“This’ll be better, Shorty," Quantrell re- 
plied, venomously. “I said he was a Bar S 
man—and this proves it! Stuck on that 
girl, sure as Fate! You saw him moonin’ 
over her, didn’t yuh? І call this good!” 
A puzzled look settled on the big fellow’s 
face. “You know I was only talkin’ when 
I claimed he was still workin’ fer old man 
Stall; but I’m damned now if I don’t be- 
Шеуе I hit the nail on the head! That girl 
of his was in Wild Horse, and now she 
shows up in the valley, where a woman 
shouldn't be. What do you make of it 
if it isn't a case of her father knowin’ 
Montana's soft for her and havin' her on 
hand to play him for a sucker?" 

*Sounds like sense to me," Shorty said. 

“Tt sure is а break for us. We'll go back 
to about a mile this side of the Forks. 
You can go up to the house and get the 
boys. I'll round up Joe Gault and half 
a dozen others and meet you there on the 
creek, I want 'em to get an eyeful of this 
bird on his way down. The way they're 
feelin’ now they'll jerk the air out of that 
meddlin' fool and we'll be through with 
him." 

'This was cunning that Shorty could ap- 
preciate. 

“We don't want to lose any time," Quan- 
trell reminded him. Can't tell how long 
he'll be up there." 


HEN he and Shorty parted he 

climbed out of the creek bottom and 
took to the hills. He failed to find Gault 
at home, but Joe's wife told him he was 
over at Jubal Stark's ranch. Cursing the 
delay, Quantrell rode away at a punishing 
pace. When he reached his destination 
he was rewarded by finding several others 
present—Dave Morrow, young Lance and 
Jubal's brother-in-law, Galen Stroud. 

The situation was one made to order for 
Quantrell. His news came as а bomb- 
shell. 

“The two-faced skunk!” Jubal bellowed. 
I'm fer stringin’ him up! All his soft 
talk about waitin’! You can see what he’s 
after now, cant you? Wanted us to sit 
still and do nuthin’ till they’d plucked us 
clean!” 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 67 


All were bitter and expressed themselves 
accordingly. 

I'm for making’ an example of him," 
Gault said. “He’s made a fool out of me, 
for I always had confidence in him; I 
thought he was right. It’s easy to see 
he’s been takin’ us over from the start. We 
better get our horses and ride.” 

When they reached the point on the Big 
Powder where Quantrell and Shorty had 
parted they found him and the rest of the 
big fellow’s outfit already on hand. Shorty 
said Montana had not come down the 
creek. 

"We're here in time then," Quantrell 
muttered. Back at Stark’s place he had 
let the others do the talking. He was tak- 
ing the lead now. We don’t know which 
side of the creek he'll take,” he told them. 
“Me and the boys will lay out on the other 
side; you can stay here. He'll be right on 
us before he smells trouble. Better tie 
the horses to be sure they won’t be moving 
about to tip him off.” 

“Just remember that we want to take 
him alive,” Stark called out as Quantrell 
and his men started across the creek. “We 
ain’t agoin’ to end this with anythin’ as 

on him as a bullet.” 

“You said somethin’!” Quantrell rasped. 
“We got a few things to choke down his 
throat first.” 

The spot he had chosen for the ambush 
suited their purpose ideally. The willows 
grew dense there. When they had crawled 
into them and concealed themselves there 
was no sign to say that danger lurked 
there. 

But they were totally unaware of a pair 
of piercing black eyes watching them from 
the top of the bank just as intently as they 
were watching the creek bottom for sight 
of Montana. It was Plenty Eagles. 
Quantrell had made few moves in the last 
few days that the young Indian had not 
observed, 

He could not voice his titude 
to Jim, but he was proving it more 
tangible ways. 

When he finally slipped away, he moved 
noiselessly. No eye was turned in his 
direction. After he had put a screen of 
trees between him and the waiting men, 
he came back to the creek bottom and 
headed for the north. 

*Not letting Montana walk into that 
trap," he muttered fiercely. “He make big 
mistake net letting me kill Quantrell.“ 


CHAPTER XVII 
SPEAKING OF MISTAKES 


R. STALL had said nothing to Letty 
concerning the reason for his mys- 
terious journey to Vale with Mac- 

Masters. He had returned breathing con- 
fidence regarding the outcome of the 
struggle in which he was engaged. 

Reb had met him with the news that 
parties unknown were rustling their cattle, 
It was rubbing him on a sore spot. 

“It’s squarely up to you to spot it,” old 
Slick-ear had raged. ‘You ought to know 
where to look for them.” 

I'm only askin’ permission to shoot first 
and ask questions later,’ Reb had an- 
swered. 

“Оп our range, yes! 
ciples in this business! 
anyone?" 

“Last night—but they got away... . 
I'm not underestimatin’ Jim Montana now. 
He's pretty smart." 

The shot told. Mr, Stall chewed his 
mustache. 

“You may have to look further than 
Montana, Mr. Russell." 

“Mebbe he isn't leadin! em, Reb 
hedged, “But he’s standin’ for it; he's still 
down there. It gets to the same thing 
with me.” 

Despite renewed vigilance on his part 
the rustling had continued. Mr. Stall 
stormed to no avail. In his mind he 
charged up every lost steer against the day 
when the Squaw Valley men should be 
forced to their knees. 

Although he never admitted it, he was 
secretly happy to have Letty near him. 
Her “sprained” ankle had improved slowly 
and before she had fully recovered he had 
ceased thinking about sending her away. 

Weeks had passed since he had visited 
his Nevada ranches. Business in California 
called to him. Only by mail could he keep 
in touch with his far-flung empire. Не 
would write for half a day at a time, put- 
ting out of his mind all thought of the 
Squaw Valley strife and giving orders and 
advice to his foremen, with an eye for de- 
tail that was uncanny. 

He was at it today, dispatching a long 
letter to the foreman of his Humboldt 
ranch, east of Winnemucca. 


That’s first prin- 
Have you seen 


I am in receipt of your report for last 
month. In general it is satisfactory. I note 
what you say about the men. Tom Kelsey 


68 WESTERN ACIION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


has been working for me a long time, but 
if he insists on gonig into Golconda and get- 
ting drunk, you should dismiss him. It has 
a bad effect on the rest of the men, and you 
can’t get work out of him if he’s been drunk 
the night before, 

I notice in your accounts the amount of 
meat you have been using. It is altogether 
too much. I want the men to have enough; 
but you have a good garden on the river. The 
men will work better for having more veget- 
ables and less meat. 

Of course it is disappointing to learn that 
Mrs. Kirk did not come up to your ex- 
pectations as a cook. I have found that when 
you have to hire a man and his wife to get 
a cook you are usually borrowing trouble. 
Either the man will not do the chores or 
work with a will at anything, or his wife 
will turn out to be a very third-rate woman 
in the kitchen. I advise you to hire a China- 
man. They are clean and waste very little. 

I had been waiting to visit the ranch to 
tell you about the stove in the dining-room. 
The legs are wobbly, and if someone bumps 
against the stove accidentally it will surely 
upset, I want you to have that looked after 
while the stove is not in use, A fire would 
be very expensive. 

In regard to the cellar. The dobe was 
crumbling badly last year. It would be a 
waste of money to repair it. You will find 
it more economical to build a new one, You 
could place it next to the blacksmith shop. 

I cannot say when I will be down. I note 
that Mr. Taylor would like to contract for 
some of our pasture this fall. With the water 
situation what it is, I am against that. We 
will need all our pasture, and there is no 
profit in letting it out and having to repair 
the fences and possibly pump water for him. 


A broken window, a leaking head-gate 
in an irrigation ditch—nothing was too 
small to escape his attention. Perhaps it 
would not have been unusual for a man to 
give such attention to details on one ranch, 
but he was doing it for a score of ranches 
spread over four states. 

When thus engaged he was so absorbed 
with his train of thought that he permitted 
no interruption except on the most urgent 
matters. Even Letty, for all her bossing 
of him, respected his wish in this matter. 

He had seen her ride away that morning. 
But she had been doing it for some days 
now and always returning within an hour 
or so, and it gave him no cause for concern 
this time. Several hours had passed as he 
sat at his desk, but he wrote on unmindful 
of her protracted absence. 

If he had stepped to the door he could 
have caught a glimpse of her, riding in from 
the south with Montana beside her. 

Blissfully unaware of the fact that they 
had been spied on, Jim and Letty had fol- 


lowed the Big Powder north. It gave Mon- 
tana a thrill to see the old Bar S on a 
steer's hide. It was like coming home, in 
a way. 

Reb had too many men riding the range 
for Jim and Letty to proceed very far 
before encountering them. They had not 
covered more than a mile before Johnny 
Lefleur cut across their trail. Seeing Jim 
there was startling enough to leave Johnny 
speechless. 

Letty called out a greeting to him, but 
Montana maintained a tight-lipped silence. 
He knew he was persona non grata with 
all Bar S men. He did not propose to give 
Johnny a chance to humble him. 

They rode on, Letty had lost her smile. 
For a few minutes she had been day-dream- 
ing, but the work-a-day world with its 
problems and strife had caught up with her. 

They met other men who turned away 
without a word, contempt for Montana in 
their eyes. 

*Don't let it worry you, ma'am," Jim 
told her. “I had to expect that or worse." 

They had just reached the ranch yard 
when a horseman rode toward them. It 
was Reb. After his first start of surprise, 
a sneer curled his lips and he turned away 
without a word. Montana pretended not 
to notice. 

“ГІ hardly be seeing you before you 
leave,” Letty told him. “I want you to 
know this, Jim. If there's ever anything 
І can do to help—I will! You'll find 
Father in the front room." 

She was gone then, without another 
word. 

Old Slick-ear was seated at a table, his 
pen still travelling swiftly over the paper 
as he dashed off another of his endless let- 
ters. Jim stood there for half a minute 
before the old man looked up. The change 
that swept over Mr. Stall's plump face was 
startling. With a snort of rage he pushed 
his chair back. 

*What you doing here?" he demanded. 

“T came to see you, Mr. Stall." 

“Well, you're seeing me! How did you 
get here?” 

Jim hesitated. 
me—" 

“That girl!" The old man’s face was 
purple. He slammed his pen down on the 
table violently. 

Montana explained how he had met 
Letty and begged her to bring him to the 
house. 


*Miss Letty brought 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 69 


“Well, you’re here now, and you can turn 
around and get out! If you think you can 
come here as an envoy from that cattle- 
stealing pack you’ve been running with, 
you're mistaken!" 

“But we're losing stuff, too, Mr. Stall— 
perhaps more than you—and you're not 
taking it!” 

“Hunh?” Suspicion and baffled rage 
battled for supremacy in that hoarse cry. 

“And we are not rustling your stuff!” 
Jim drove on. “111 prove that to you if 
you'll listen. Don’t get the idea I’m here 
asking for quarter, or speaking for anyone 
but myself. This fight can go on, but 
while we’re battling over the bone, a third 
party is running off with it!” 


T was unexpected enough to take some 
of the bluster out of the old man. Keen 
judge of men that he was, he knew Mon- 
tana was not given to over-statement. He 
stared at him fiercely but he could not beat 
down his eyes. 

“What do you mean by that?” he de- 
manded, and he could not have clipped the 
words off shorter with a knife. 

“I mean that Billy Sauls wasn’t killed in 
any range feud. He was murdered in the 
hope that it would stampede Reb into 
something just as desperate. For the same 
reason, houses and hay were burned—and 
the work charged to you.” 

Old Slick-ear bit at his mustache for a 
moment and then did a typical about-face. 

“Sit down,” he said, his tone almost 
mild. 

“No, TIl get this off my chest standing 
up. I'm too full of it to sit down, І 
should have tumbled to the game long be- 
fore I left Wild Horse. I was suspicious, 
but I never got it right until the last few 
days. I know now. One man has engi- 
neered every move. He killed that Crockett 
boy just as sure as though he’d held a 
gun up to his head and blazed away. That 
boy’s father is the only man on our side 
who knows I’m here. If I’m caught it’s 
going to go pretty hard with me—I've al- 
ready been accused of being in your em- 
ploy. But that's beside the point." 
Well, who is it?” the old man thun- 

dered. “Give him a name!” 

Jim shook his head. 

“Not yet, Mr. Stall. He belongs to me. 
Billy Sauls was my buddy.” 

There was nothing in the old man’s man- 
ner to say that he believed what Montana 


* 


was saying. In his heart he did. And it 
put a different complexion on things. For 
the better part of ten minutes he tried un- 
successfully to find out who it was that 
Montana suspected. 

“No, Ill get him myself, Mr. Stall," Jim 
insisted. ‘“There’s only two or three ways 
a man could run cattle out of this country. 
Wild Horse would be too dangerous. To 
the south, they’d have to go through Wil- 
low Vista and, farther along, Quinn River. 
You’d know about it if that was the case— 
wouldn’t you?” 

“Yd know all right,” he muttered 
pointedly. 

There's only one other way then—the 
back door, so to speak—Iron Point and 
Cisco." 

“Гуе got that covered, if that's what 
you're driving at! What's your point?” 

Montana permitted himself a grim smile. 
It was simple enough. If the Bar S had 
lost as heavily as the other side there was 
well on toward two hundred steers miss- 
ing. If they hadn't been driven out to a 
shipping-point, they were being held some- 
where between the Malheurs and-the Juni- 
pers. He said as much. 

“Hunh!” The old man’s grunt was 
sceptical now. It was not easy to hide 
two hundred steers. 

“And no easier to move them with as 
many men on the range as this! They'd 
have to hold ’em until the overbranding 
healed. If they can hold them a week, why 
can't they hold them a month? I don't 
believe they've ever been driven out. I 
aim to find them, if that's the case." 

“Where are you going to look?” 

“That’s my problem, Mr. Stall. If I 
succeed, I want yoü to reconsider your 
stand in the valley." 

“What? In what way?" 

“In a dollar and cents way. There'll 
never be a profit here for you as long as 
these Kentuckians hang on. And they'll 
stick it out. They’re that kind.” 

“What, compromise with them?” The 
little veins in his cheeks were purple again. 
“Not a chance! Not a single chance!” he 
exclaimed, banging the table with his fist. 
“There’s too many ifs in your talk, Mon- 
tana, and they’re all on your side!” He 
got up to indicate that the interview was 
over. “You want to grow up before you 
cross bows with me. І told you in Wild 
Horse Га fight. That's what I’m doing, 
and I don't mean rustling cattle or burning 


70 WESTERN ACTION 


people out of their homes by that. This 
thing is moving on to the end, and I’m 
perfectly satisfied to let it. Even if I had 
any reason to think of changing my mind 
I'd not obligate myself to anything on ifs. 
If ever you have any facts to present, I'll 
listen to ’em; but I’m not compromising 
anything.” 

Jim left. Old Slick-ear had more let- 
ters to write but he sat at his desk without 
reaching for his pen, deep in thought. He 
could no longer ignore Letty’s continued 
interest in Montana. His frown deepened 
as he considered it. 

“That’s why she came here," he told him- 
self. That's why she had to make that 
long trip to Wild Horse. . . . Always de- 
fending him." 

He went back to the days at Willow 
Vista when Jim had worked for him. He 
found plenty to substantiate what he was 
thinking. 

“Began way back there,” he mused. 
*. . . Breaking horses for her. Teaching 
her how to ride." 

He also recalled how Montana had come 
to him and asked for his wages. His work 
had been more than satisfactory. He had 
not asked for more money. It had been 
hard to understand at the time—harder 
than it was now. 

*No question about her having been re- 
sponsible,” he argued. Just how, he could 
not decide. “Evidently he figured he was 
over his head and took that way out." It 
gave him a new respect for Montana. 
“Cost me a good man," he thought, only to 
add, “but of course he did the right thing. 
He knew what Ра say about anything like 
that. But the nerve of him, coming here 
thinking I might compromise!" The very 
thought won a snort of contempt from him. 
“Tve got the skids under them right now. 
Til show Montana what he’s up against.” 

He picked up his pen and reached for a 
sheet of paper. For once he found it diffi- 
cult to begin his letter. 

“Biggest mistake I ever made in my life 
letting that man get away from me," he 
muttered. “I could use him now." 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THUNDERING Hoors 


ONTANA was escorted to the Bar S 
line. It was indicative of the con- 
tempt in which he was held that the 

two men detailed to the task, both old ac- 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


quaintances, chose to ride fifty yards to 
the rear. 

They parted without & word, down the 
Big Powder, and Jim continued on alone. 
He was well satisfied with what he had 
accomplished. The old man’s bluster did 
not disturb him. 

“He wants facts, eh?” he mused. “Well, 
he’ll get them. If Dan won’t play it my 
way I'll dare Jubal Stark into riding with 
me on Quantrell’s trail. I'm going to stay 
with him until I’ve got him dead to rights!” 

It would have been much pleasanter to 
dream about Letty Stall. It was all he 
could do to put her out of his thoughts and 
confine himself to the task immediately 
before him. 

No premonition of disaster rested on 
him as he rode along, and it was not until 
he was within several miles of the Forks 
that he began to move more cautiously, 
thinking only to avoid being seen by some 
chance rider from below. ‘Therefore, he 
was hardly prepared to be hailed guardedly 
a few mimnutes later. It was a rude 
awakening. With the agility of a cat he 
slid out of his saddle and leaped into the 
willows. Getting his bearings, he looked 
up and saw Plenty Eagles signing to him. 

“What are you doing down here?” Mon- 
tana asked sharply. 

“АП the time I am watching Quantrell," 
the Piute replied stonily. Always know- 
ing where he goes. Thinking I have to kill 
him this morning.” 

It provoked Montana. 

“Didn’t I tell you to leave him to me?” 
he demanded. 

“He see you with the girl. One of his 
men with him. Want to shoot you,” the 
Indian informed him. Afraid for you.” 

Jim tossed away his cigarette and gazed 
at him keenly for a moment. 

“Your heart is good, Cola,” he said. 
*Quantrell won't make me any trouble.” 

*Making you plenty trouble right now," 
Plenty Eagles insisted. 

“How?” 

Jim’s eyes clouded as the Indian began 
to unfold his tale of the trap into which he 
had been riding. 

“Not hearing what they say,” the boy 
went on, “except you are spy. Quantrell 
make plenty talk. Not living long if they 
seeing you.” 

The news floored Montana for a minute. 
What a sorry mess he had made of things! 
Plans? He had no plans now. In his 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 71 


despair he told himself he could not have 
more deliberately delivered himself into 
Quantrell's hands had he tried. He had 
thought to force a showdown. Well, here 
was one—and he was on the wrong end 
of it. 

“T guess this puts me on the shelf as far 
as this fight is concerned,” he groaned. He 
made Plenty Eagles repeat his story of how 
Quantrell and Shorty had observed his 
meeting with Letty, and how the big fellow 
had then raced south for Gault and the 
others. 

“What he had to say fell on willing ears," 
he thought, his mouth grim. No use 
thinking I could explain. Quantrell would 
never wait for that. He’d stop me before 
I could open my mouth, and if he needed 
an excuse for putting a slug into me he'd 
claim self-defense." 

He asked Plenty Eagles how far they 
were from the ambush. 

* Mebbe one mile—” 

“That’s far enough for a minute," Jim 
muttered. “They can’t have seen me yet.” 

“No, not seeing you from here." 

Montana knew nothing was to be gained 
by trying to slip around them. He was 
through down below. They’d come to the 
Box C and lead him out to the nearest tree. 
Dan Crockett was the only man he could 
summon to his defense. 

„If they grab me they'll never wait for 
Dan to talk,” he thought. 

At Jim’s suggestion they left their horses 
in the bottom and climbed a hogback that 
gave them a view far down the creek. Mon- 
tana could discover no glimpse of the men, 
but Plenty Eagles finally was able to point 
out their tethered horses. 

It was answer enough. He nodded to 
the boy and they returned to their ponies. 

“That’s the finish,” Jim told him, “I’m 
through.” 

“Mebbe you not through,” Plenty Eagles 
answered cryptically. 

Jim gave him a questioning glance. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You telling me watch Quantrell. z , г I 
watch him.” 

“Yeah?” His throat was tight, 

“Plenty cattle being rustled. , , , You 
knowing who get them?” 

“Cola!” It was cry of relief. “, , , You 
know who got them, eh?” 

The Indian nodded gravely, “Me—I 
know,” he said. 

Jim caught him by the shoulders, 


“Quantrell and his bunch?" he de- 
manded. 

*Yes—get him ail.” Plenty Eagles’ face 
was stolid, but he was enjoying himself 
immensely to find himself so important. 

“You saw 'em cut them out?” 

“Plenty time. See you yesterday on cut- 
bank. You make talk with Quantrell, He 
and Shorty go. . Get six steer from 
Joe Gault before come home." 

Jim's eyes were snapping with eagerness. 

*Well, what he's doing with them, Plenty 
Eagles? Not send them out." 

“No—” He was not to be hurried. His 
information was too precious to be tossed 
out recklessly. 

Where's he got them?” 

"In the mine." 

“What?” It took Montana’s breath 
away. 

In the mine," Plenty Eagles repeated. 
“My father not going to the creek for water 
like Quantrell say. Yesterday I think to 
myself: ‘Why he lie about that?! About 
daylight I go to the mine. Once I work 
there. The upper level is cut through. 
Come out other side from house. I crawl 
in. Cattle there. Mebbe two hundred 
head. Soon Quantrell come. Bring more 
steers, Not seeing me." The Piute shook 
his head regretfully. But for you I am 
killing him. . . . Plenty water down be- 
low. Nobody ever finding him." 

Words were beyond Montana. He knew 
he had victory and vindication in his grasp 
if he could take advantage of the knowl- 
edge that was now his. 

"Pretty big surprise eh?" the boy 
grinned, 

“Takes my breath away,” Jim got out. 
“He was smarter than I thought. Smooth 
business using the old mine. I missed that 
play clean.” His head was throbbing. “І 
don’t know what it’s going to be worth to 
me now. Yesterday the information would 
have been priceless." 

“Not be sure until daylight," Plenty 
Eagles explained. “I stay down to find 
you. When I see Quantrell tracking you 
I think better I watch him. . . . Good 
thing, too.” 

“You said it, Cola! I’d be a dead mack- 
erel right now but for you.” 


E did not intend to end the matter by 

running away. Не had asked for 

cards. He was holding a royal flush now. 
He would play it some way. 


72 WESTERN ACTION 


He considered several moves, but dis- 
missed them as promising too little hope 
of success. The minutes were fleeing. He 
realized that he dared not tarry there much 
longer. He knew his play had to be a one- 
man stand, aside from such assistance as he 
might have from the Indian. 

Out of sheer desperation, he hit upon a 
plan that satisfied him. It was dangerous, 
and had to be nicely timed to be success- 
ful. But he felt he had to chance it. He 
outlined it to Plenty Eagles, 

Its daring appealed to the Piute, but he 
shook his head. “Something go wrong,” 
he said. 

“What can go wrong if you do as I say?” 
Jim asked sharply. We'll trade horses. 
ГІ give you my hat. They won't grow 
suspicious until you're near enough to be 
recognized. By that time I will have cut 
&cross the hills and be almost as far as 
Quantrell’s house. Quantrell’s bunch will 
see me. The men across the creek won't. 
Too many trees. There can't be anything 
wrong with that." 

“Then what I do?” 

“You stay оп the east bank so you'll 
run into Gault. As soon as Quantrell sees 
me heading for the mine he'll know what's 
up. They'll try to stop me. And they'll 
pull away from the creek without letting 
the rest know. When Gault questions you, 
give him this message: tell him the cattle 


are in the miné—to come quick! You 
savvy all that?" 
Plenty Eagles nodded weightily. 
„That's all you've got to do, I'll take 


care of the rest." 

Plenty Eagles’ horse was a tough, wiry 
cayuse with a mean eye. He could travel, 
though. Montana soon was moving away 
from the creek, keeping to an arroyo that 
concealed him effectively. Three hundred 
yards from the house he was forced out 
in the open. He had no way of knowing 
whether anyone was there or not. He 
could only hope that Quantrell had drawn 
all of his men to the creek. 

“TIL find out in a hurry,” he ground 
out as he flashed by the house. 

Nothing happened. He could look back 

gand see the Big Powder now. 

“They haven’t spotted me yet,” he told 
himself. *T'll go through with this whether 
they do or not.” Without looking back, he 
raked his horse with his spurs and drove 
on toward the old Adelaide. When he 
flung himself out of the saddle at the fence 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


and flashed another glance toward the Big 
Powder, a cry of satisfaction broke from 
him, Seven men were streaking away from 
the creek and racing toward him! 

“They can't get here for ten minutes— 
and that's time enough!" he thought. 

Ten yards inside of the mouth of the 
mine he found another gate. He shot the 
lock off. His nose told him, even before 
his eyes, that the steers were there. 

It was dark in the tunnels. It took him 
a moment to get the lay of things. The 
cattle were on the upper level. They ob- 
jected to his presence and began to bawl. 
Talking to them, Montana edged through. 

It took him precious minutes to reach 
the drift that came out on the opposite side 
of the mountain. 

“There’s wind enough through here to do 
the trick," he muttered. The shoring and 
beams were dry with age. “They'll burn, 
all right!” 

It was only a few seconds before the 
tiny blaze he kindled was licking up the 
timbers. The wind was carrying the 
smudge toward the mine entrance. Already 
the cattle were moving away from him, 
bawling loudly. Their cries echoed weirdly 
in his ears, 

“Another minute is all I want!” he as- 
sured himself. 

He was playing it fine. Already Quan- 
trell and his men were coming up the side 
cafion. A wisp of smoke was curling out 
of the mouth of the mine. 

“He’s firin’ it!" Quantrell shouted as 
he leaped the fence, He was past wonder- 
ing whether it was Montana. It couldn’t 
be anyone else. “We got to get in there 
in a hurry!” 

The others followed him over the fence. 
Shorty paused to glance back at the valley. 

“Here the rest соте!” he yelled. “Тһе 
jig’s up fer sure!” 

Quantrell stopped in his tracks. A groan 
of dismay broke from him. He began to 
curse. The wrath of the men he had duped 
could never he stayed now. 

“Why didn’t I let you git him this morn- 
ing, Shorty?” he raged. “God a’mighty, 
we ain't got a chance! We're penned up 
like rats in a trap!” He began to curse 
incoherently. 

“Aw, shut up!” Shorty screamed at him. 
“Your chatter won't git you nothin'!“ 

“You said it!” another growled. “I al- 
ways thought you’d fold up if it got hot. 
What are we goin’ to do?” Е 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 78 


I'm fannin’ it!” Shorty cried. “You can 
stick it out here if you want to, Not me!” 

“You fool!” Quantrell screamed at him, 
"We're better off here behind the planks 
than out there in the open! We can shoot 
this out and get away!” 

“By God, we'll have to shoot it out! It's 
too late to go now! You made it sweet 
fer us!" 

The fire was forgotten in the face of their 
new danger. Gault seemed to be in charge. 
He deployed his men up the sides of the 
сайоп. 

“Pick ’em off!” Quantrell yelled. “Don’t 
let 'em get above us!" 

Guns began to bark. Both sides were 
firing. A slug got Shorty through the 
shoulder. He retrieved his rifle, and prop- 
ping it into position, began to blaze away 
with his left hand. All of them knew they 
were fighting for their lives. The best they 
could hope for was a slug or a rope. 

Quantrell began to fall apart. Shorty 
cursed him. In their extremity, he was 
the real leader. 

Unnoticed by them, the volume of smoke 
pouring out of the mine had doubled and 
redoubled. Suddenly the cries of the mad- 
dened steers reached them. 

Quantrell understood if the others didn't. 

It chilled the marrow in his bones. A 
bullet spattered against the wall beside 
him. It went unnoticed as he stared with 
mouth open at the black maw of the mine. 
АП of his bullying was gone. He knew 
they didn't have a chance. Hugging the 
walls, the plank fence barring the way, 
they were indeed like rats in a trap! When 
that maddened avalanche of thundering 
hoofs and goring horns poured out of the 
mine it would grind them into the dust. 

Crazed as he was with fear, he knew 
his only hope of escape lay within the mine. 
If he could reach it before the inner gate 


went down, he might hope to find safety . 


in one of the cross tunnels. 


E did not tarry. Unmindful of the 

guns above, he ran for the entrance. 

It was only a yard away when he heard 

the inner gate crash. It went down with 

a ripping, splintering sound that turned his 

blood to ice. With eyes starting from their 
sockets he plunged into the smoke. 

With a sickening thud the fence went 
down, ripped to kindling. Nothing could 
stop that maddened rush. The steers swept 
out into the valley and the dust settled 


down on the battered, lifeless forms they 
left in their wake. 

He was not out of the way a second 
too soon. With a deafening bellow the 
crazed cattle swept by him, heads lowered 
and horns flashing. 

Here was death—relentless, inexorable! 
A strangled scream broke from the trapped 
men. Horses reared and dashed away, eyes 
rolling with fear. 

Shorty threw away his gun and leaped 
for the fence. The others were only a 
step behind him. Gault and his neighbors, 
who had only within the hour come to 
realize that Quantrell was their real enemy, 
d their fire as they looked on, white of 
ace. 
Gault and Stark and the other valley 
men stood petrified. The poor, lifeless 
wretches before them did not excite them 
to pity. They were thinking of Montana. 
It slowly dawned on them that they had 
played a despicable róle. Despite their 
scourging and doubting of him Jim had 
remained faithful to their cause. In their 
hearts they knew they must stand ashamed 
before the world until they had squared 
themselves with him. 

“I feel like crawlin’ into a hole and 
draggin’ my tail in after me,” Jubal said. 
“I been a fool and a skunk! Montana was 
right from the first. I can see it now. 
Quantrell burned me out. He raised all 
this hell so he could rustle our cattle. If 
we'd had a drop of real faith in Jim Mon- 
tana most of this misery could have been 
avoided." 

“ІЛ say amen to that," Gault muttered. 
*He did for us what we didn't have the 
brains nor courage to do ourselves. He's 
in there somewhere, burnin' to death, and 
I'm goin’ in ter get him! Don’t ferget 
Quantrell’s in there, too!” 

“ПП go with you!" Jubal exclaimed. 
I'm prayin' to God we'll find Montana. 
As fer that coyote Quantrell—I'm a sayin’: 
Let him stay there. It'll save us spoilin' a 
good rope on him!" 


CHAPTER XIX 
THE END or His TETHER 


LENTY EAGLES had ridden to the 
mine with the valley men. The dust 
had not yet settled behind the stam- 
peding steers when he slid down the wall 
and rushed for the entrance. Gault called 
to him, but the young Indian did not stop. 


74 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


In a few moments all were at the mouth 
of the tunnel. Even there the smoke was 
bad. 

“Don’t believe we can git in," young 
Lance declared doubt fully. 

“No? If thet young buck’s got guts 
enough to risk her, I hev!” Jubal ex- 
claimed. “I’m agoin’ in!” 

Before he had taken a step Plenty Eagles 
staggered out, coughing violently. His eye- 
brows and hair were badly singed. 

„Too much smoke," he gasped. Not 
getting in there—” 

Jubal insisted on trying to get in. It 
was only a minute before he tottered out, 
lungs bursting. It was a few seconds be- 
fore he was able to speak. 

“Both of ’em is trapped in there,” he 
said, still trying to catch his breath, 

“My God, do we have to stand here un- 
able to do anythin’?” Gault exclaimed 
miserably. Ain't there somethin’ we can 
do? Didn't they drive one of the tun- 
nels through on t'other side of the moun- 
tain?" 

“Yeh, I knowing the placel" Plenty 
DEN spoke up. I show you where!” 

e ran to his horse and leaped into the 
saddle. Fanning the pony with his quirt, 
he was away before the others had even 
started. 

The animal floundered in the loose rock, 
sending tons of it rolling down hill The 
Piute kept his horse on its feet, however, 
and raced on, to bring the pony to a slither- 
ing stop when he reached the tunnel. 

There was very little smoke there now. 
Encouraged, he rushed in. 

He had not gone over twenty yards when 


a groan of despair was wrung from him.. 


The céiling of the old tunnel had caved it. 
. . . Tons of rocks sealed the passage. 

Gault and Jubal found him trying to 
worm his way through. 

“You'll have the rest of it down on us 
if you keep that up,” Gault warned. “We 
couldn't clean enough of that rock away 
io git through in a week." 

*No other chance," Plenty Eagles ground 
out as he continued to tug at the huge 
blocks of quartz. His fingers were bleed- 
ing. Suddenly a booming sound warned 
him that Gault had been right. a 
ran back in time to escape being crushed. 

“No chance now,” the young Indian 
muttered stonily. ; : 

There was nothing for them to do but 
go back to the mouth of the mine and wait, 


hoping against hope, that some miracle 
might save Montana. 

When the tunnel that they had found 
blocked had first caved in. Jim was only a 
short distance away. A beam had burned 
through. As it snapped in two a deafening 
roar warned him in time and he leaped 
clear. 

With that avenue of escape blocked, he 
tried to rush out through the main tunnel. 
The heat and smoke were terrific. Burst- 
ing lungs soon convinced him that he could 
never make it. Hands and face burned, 
he crawled back toward the cave-in, know- 
ing he must soon suffocate unless he found 
a cross-cut or managed to get on another 
level. 

With a burning brand for a torch, he 
found a drift that took him out of fhe main 
tunnel. The air was better. His shirt was 
burning. He yanked it off. His back 
was a torture. Every nerve seemed to be 
in agony. He knew he had to go оп. The 
fire would work in there before long. 

In a few moments his improvised torch 
flickered out, leaving him in inky darkness. 
He had to feel every inch of the way, 
afraid lest he plunge headlong into one of 
the deep shafts. 

The drift seemed to be pitching down- 
ward. He wondered if it was only a ramp 
leading to the flooded lower level. He had 
cut himself off completely if that were so. 

He had lost all sense of direction. At 
times he thought he was moving toward 
the mouth of the mine, and then again, 
that he was circling away from it. Once 
his hand touched water. His heart sank. 
But it was only a spring, seeping down 
the side of the tunnel. He found a pool 
where the water had gathered, and he 
bathed his blistered face and hands. 

As he waited there, a distant muffled 
booming told him there had been another 
cave-in. He estimated that he had been 
in the mine almost an hour. His matches 
were exhausted; his watch was of no use. 
With a sickening dread, he realized that 
а man could wander about in those old 
workings for days without ever finding a 
way out. 

Certainly Gault and Stark must have 
come to their senses by now. They would 
make some effort to find him. 

“If they don't, Plenty Eagles will,” he 
thought. It gave him courage. 

The drift was not pitching downward any 
longer Moving forward on hands and 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 75 


knees, his progress was slow. Without 
warning he put out a hand and could not 
find the floor of the drift. He drew back 
hurriedly and began to explore with his 
fingers. A shaft yawned in front of him. 
He picked up a rock and dropped it into 
the hole. He heard it splash far below. 

It was possible that the drift ended there, 
but it was more likely that two or three 
tunnels came into the shaft, radiating in 
several directions. He found the latter 
surmise correct as he got around the shaft 
safely. It was a question which tunnel 
he should take. 

“PII go straight ahead,” he decided. “I 
can find my way back here if I have to.” 

As he rested there he heard a man cough. 
It was a startling interruption. Не was 
about to call out when a light appeared in 
-the tunnel he was following. А man was 
holding a torch aloft. The man was Quan- 
trell! Montana's cry froze оп his lips be- 
fore he could utter it. 


UANTRELL walked unsteadily. He 
was naked from the waist up, his 
body scorched and blackened. Jim could 
only surmise how he came to be there. The 
big fellow did not glance back over his 
shoulder as he would have done if he 
feared pursuit. No trace of his surly de- 
fiance remained. 

*He's trapped with me," Jim thought. 
„That's rich—the two of us alone down 
here together!" Montana got to his feet 
noiselessly. Quantrell was sure to see him 
in another second. 

“That’s far enough!" he called out. 

It stopped the big fellow in his tracks. 
His body stiffened as he balanced on his 
toes, his eyes narrowing with hatred as 
surprise passed. With a cry of rage as 
fierce as the snarl of a grizzly, he hurled 
his torch at Montana. 

It fell harmlessly to the floor of the 
tunnel, casting weird shadows over them 
as it burned fitfully. Quantrell slapped his 
hand to his holster. He sucked in his 
breath sharply, his eyes bulging horribly. 
His gun was not there! 

Montana caught the movement of his 
hand. 

“Go ahead—and 111 bust you where you 
stand!" he warned. “Му finger’s itching 
to let you have it!" 

Quantrell’s arm dropped limply to his 
side. “You get pretty damn gabby when 
you got the heel of a six-gun in your fist 


and the other fellow ain't got nothin' in 
the leather!" he snarled. “Раб your gun 
away and I'll make you eat what I've had 
on the fire so long for you!" 

“That’s okay with me!" Montana flung 
back at him. He jammed his gun into 
the holster. “Апа there won't be any 
running out this time,” he advised. You're 
going to stand up and take it. You've 
been handing it out to me for a long time— 
and its backing up on you right now!" 

In weight and size the advantage was all 
with Quantrell. The narrow tunnel was to 
his liking, too. He ached to get his long 
arms around Montana and throttle the life 
out of him. With an animal-like grunt, he 
lowered his head and charged. 

Jim stepped aside and gave him a sting- 
ing blow that straightened him up. Once 
more the big fellow cursed and came at 
him, and again Montana drove his fist into 
his face. He had put everything he had 
into the blow, and it amazed him to see 
Quantrell weather it. He knew he couldn't 
hit harder. 

They fought on, Quantrell lowering his 
head and rushing him repeatedly, trying to 
drag him into his embrace. Hit and get 
away—that was Montana's chance. 

In the course of fifteen minutes he had 
cut Quantrell’s face to ribbons, but the big 
fekow came on for more. Jim was tiring. 
He had to hurt him soon—stop those mad 
rushes. All his long-stored-up hatred of 
the man was unleashed. 

Suddenly Quantrell brought his long 
right up. It caught Jim as he was backing 
away, but it split his lip. He could taste 
the blood as it trickled into his mouth. 

Quantrell seemed to sense that Jim was 
tiring. He wasn’t getting away so fast 
any more. He managed to clip him again. 
A hoarse, insensate cry rumbled up out of 
his throat. 

“Go on, slash away!” he thought. “TI 
hammer the brains out of you before we’re 
through. But for your damned meddlin’ 
I'd never got in this fix!” 

His makeshift torch began to sputter out. 
He turned to kick it out of the way and 
Montana caught him off balance. The blow 
drove his head against the wall with a thud 
that made his senses reel. 

The torch was only a glowing ember 
now. Quantrell could just make out Mon- 
tana’s hunched figure. He threw caution to 
the winds and charged him like an in- 
furiated bull. 


76 WESTERN ACTION 


Jim threw himself flat to avoid him. 
Quantrell grabbed at him frantically and 
missed as he tried to stay his mad rush. 
He had seen the yawning shaft. With 
flailing arms he tried to stop himself. His 
foot went out and found nothing under it. 
With a strangled scream of fear he tried 
to whirl, even then, to save himself. 

He was falling. . . his fingers slipped 
over the edge— 

Montana sat up and stared after him 
unseeingly. Heart standing still, he lis- 
tened. Seconds passed before he heard the 
body strike the water below. 

He picked up the red coal that had been 
the torch and tried to blow it into flame. 
Holding it before him, he peered down into 
the depths of the shaft. 

“Quantrell!” he shouted. ‘“Quantrell!” 

There was no answer. Weak and ex- 
hausted, Montana crept back from the 
brink, his breath coming in gasps. It was 
good just to stretch out on the cold rocky 
floor and not think. 

He never wanted to move again. He told 
himself the smoke was not any heavier than 
it had been. Maybe the fire in the main 
tunnel was burning out. Later on he’d try 
to retrace the way Quantrell had come. 
Maybe it would lead him out. Maybe 
he’d end up down some shaft, too. He was 
almost too weary to care. 

He was still lying there when Plenty 
Eagles and the others found him, early that 
evening. 


CHAPTER XX 
THE FOREMAN OF SQUAW VALLEY 


THOUT agreement of any sort, 

both sides seemed to have declared a 

truce. The steers Quantrell had 

rustled had been rounded up and the Bar S 

yearlings cut out. Old Slick-ear’s men had 

been told to come down and get their stuff. 
They drove it off unmolested. 

Montana had been carried to the Box C. 
Mother Crockett reported that he was rest- 
ing easy. News of what he had done 
travelled north with Reb. Letty Stall got 
the story from him five minutes after he 
had reported to her father. It filled her 
with an anxiety she did not try to conceal. 

“Reb—tell me the truth, is he danger- 
ously injured?” 

“Reckon not. Guess he's sufferin' 
plenty; but nothin' serious about it." 

She saw that Reb was none too happy 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


over having to sing Jim’s 

* Did you see him?" she asked. 

“No. Reckon he ain't hankerin’ to see 
any of us." 

Letty said no more, but she was deter- 
mined to see Jim at once, and with that 
thought in mind, she marched into her 
father's presence. 

Old Slick-ear's brow was creased in a 
puzzled frown. He was not surprised to 
see his daughter. He knew she would get 
the facts from Reb, and because he sus- 
pected her interest in Montana, lose no 
time in confronting him. 

Now that she had come, he waited for 
her to speak. He was singularly ill at ease. 
The turn events had taken confounded him. 

“Well, Father, you told Jim you wanted 
facts," Letty declared. You'll have to 
admit you have them." 

“So it would seem," he admitted gruffly. 
à “T want to know what you are going to 

o?" 

*Do? What do you expect me to do?" 
he demanded, bristling as usual. “Do you 
think I’m going to crawl to those people 
just because Montana has proved me wrong 
about one or two things? Not on your life! 
If the violence is over, I’m glad. But that 
doesn’t end the matter.” 

Letty pretended a great surprise. 

“T wasn’t intimating that it did,” she 
corrected him. I've often heard you say 
you were in the cattle business to make 
money. You know by now you'll never 
make a profit here unless some compromise 
is effected. Those people can’t lose with 
men like Jim to lead them,” 

“No—?” He could have changed her 
mind about that. If he didn't, it was due 
principally to the fact—which he never 
would have admitted—that he no longer 
knew his own mind. “What’s your idea?" 
he grunted sceptically. 

“Well, I think you might talk things over 
with them. Jim did something for you as 
well as for his own people in rounding up 
Quantrel's gang. Тһе decent thing for 
you to do would be to go and see him. I 
know I intend to go. 1f we can do any- 
thing for him, we should." 

*Hunh?" He loved her spunk. “Well, 
I'll think it over pretty carefully," he an- 
nounced. 

“And while you're thinking it over, I'll 
be riding down there!” she informed him 
very positively. She started to leave the 
room, 


praises. 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 17 


“Wait a minute, Letty!” һе exclaimed, 
his manner as severe as ever, “I want to 
talk to you—” 

*Well—^" 

He tried to transfix her with his eyes. 

*Are you in love with Jim Montana?" 
It was breath-taking. But she was his 
daughter, and she answered him with equal 
directness. 

“І am," she said. She drew herself up 
to await his outburst. 

“Hunh! ZHunh!" Old Slick-ear pushed 
his chair away and walking the floor. 
“Does he know it?" he shot out. 

“Hardly,” Letty smiled. Her self-pos- 
session surprised her. ‘I’m waiting for you 
to tell me he is only a fifty-dollar-a-month 
ROME and that I'm seven kinds of a 
ool.” 

“See here!” he thundered, fixing his 
fierce old eyes on her again. “Let me do 
my own talking! Montana’s no fool; I al- 
ways said he was a good man. He doesa’t 
have to be a fifty-dollar-a-month hand if 
he doesn’t want to. He’d never have left 
me but for you.” 

It was Letty’s turn to be surprised. 

“Better tell me what you're thinking,” 
she advised icily. 

“Good Lord, you don’t think for a min- 
ute I didn’t know about this, do you?” he 
demanded furiously. ‘I’ve got eyes and 
some sense. When a good-looking cow- 
puncher begins breaking horses and point- 
ing out beautiful scenery to the boss’ 
daughter a man can draw his own conclu- 
sions. He tried to get away from you but 
you wouldn’t take no for an answer.” 

“You knew all this time—and said noth- 
ing?” Letty was frankly incredulous. 
“Father, tell me—are you really so angry 
or are you just teasing me?” 

“Т don't know what I am,” he grumbled. 
“T ought to be angry. I don’t suppose 
Jim Montana’s got a hundred dollars to his 
name. On the other hand, I’ve been afraid 
all along that you’d fall in love with one 
of those white-collar dudes I’ve been stum- 
bling over every time I came home for the 
last three years. I’ve got you everything 
else you wanted, haven't I? If you've got 
your heart set on Montana, I guess I'l 
have to get him for you, too." 

Letty threw her arms around him and 
kissed him affectionately. "You're a pre- 
cious old bear,” she trilled. “But don't 
you try to ‘get him’ for me—as you put it. 
I'm too afraid I might lose him.“ 


“Lose him?" he snorted. *Hunh! Didn't 
I tell you the man is no fool? But don't 
fool yourself that I'm going to let up on 
him." 

“He hasn't asked you to—" Letty re- 
minded him. 

That afternoon they set out for the Box 
C. News of their coming ran ahead of 
them. When they arrived, they found old 
Lance and Dave Morrow talking to 
Crockett, Their attitude was one of watch- 
ful waiting rather than hostility. 

“Can we see him?" Mr. Stall asked. 

*Reckon you can," Dan answered. “Jest 
step inside." 

Despite his protests, Jim now occupied 
the front room. 

Mother Crockett met them in the kitchen 
and showed them in to him. Jim’s face 
was swathed in bandages. He had dozed 
off for the moment, Letty fell to her knees 
beside him, her eyes misty. Unmindful of 
her father's presence, she lowered her head 
and brushed Jim's lips with her own. 

It awakened Montana. For long seconds 
he stared up at her incredulously, “Am I 
dreaming?” he murmured. 


OR answer, she kissed him again. 
“It was wonderful, Jim," she smiled. 
I'm so proud of you! І suppose you are 
suffering terribly." 

“It’s not so bad now," he smiled. “P1 
be all right directly." 

The old man cleared his throat by way 
of making his presence known. Jim blushed 
like a schoolboy. “Guess there's no need 
of my saying anything, Mr. Stall.” 

The old man pulled his brows down. “I 
don’t know what you could say,” he de- 
clared, a twinkle in his eyes. “Looks to 
me as though you’re hooked.” 

His manner changed abruptly when their 
conversation turned to talk of a compro- 
mise. They discussed the matter for nearly 
an hour. 

“ПИ not move out of this valley,” old 
Slick-ear insisted doggedly. “You know 
me, Montana; when I get my brand on a 
steer it stays there! when I buy an acre 
of land I buy it! There’s one thing I will 
do. This Quantrell property will come up 
for sale. I want the right to buy it in 
without opposition. I want Dave Morrow 
to sell me about a quarter section above 
the North Fork. Crockett will have to 
sell me about the same amount. That'll 
give me an unbroken piece of range. With 


78 WESTERN ACTION 
that, and by cutting a slice off of Willow 
Vista I'd have a going concern here.” He 
had not come there to say anything of the 
sort. It surprised him more than Letty. 
“Tf they'll agree to that I'll consent to 
forming a water district here so we'll all 
have as much as we need. And of course 
Pl need a foreman to make it show a 
profit. I expect you could do it.” 

Montana found himself as inarticulate as 
Plenty Eagles. 

“The foreman of Squaw Valley!” Letty 
beamed. Doesn't that thrill you, Jim? 
You've got to make them see it!” 

“Well, they've got the land and you've 
got the water," Montana smiled. “1 don't 
see how they can say no." 

“You can put it up to them right now 
if you want to," the old man volunteered. 
They're outside.” 

“All right, call them in!” 

Crockett and the Morrows listened re- 
spectfully as Jim outlined the plan. When 
he had finished, they withdrew to the far 
end of the room and conferred in whis- 
pers. It did not take them long to reach 
a decision. Dan acted as spokesman for 
them. 

“We agree to it,” he said simply. “A 
man never had a better friend than Mon- 
tana’s been to us. I been hit harder than 
most; I lost my boy. But I reckon the 
thing to do is shake hands and forgit all 
the misunderstandin’ and be neighbors.” 

“We'll do it that way then," old Slick- 
ear agreed. “ГІ write my attorneys to- 
night. It will take a week for one of them 
to get here. You'll want a lawyer to repre- 
sent you. Say we get together a week from 
today at my ranch. Montana will be able 
to ride by that time." 

That arrangement was satisfactory to all. 
Mr. Stall shook hands with them and fol- 
lowed them out of the room. Letty lingered 
behind for a moment. 

«І can’t believe it, Letty,” Jim mur- 
тигей reverently as he gazed at her. “Гуе 
just been pinching myself to see if I were 
really awake. I guess there hasn’t been a 
day since I first met you that I haven’t 
dreamed of making you my wife. Of late 
it’s been a nightmare; it seemed so hope- 
less.”  Self-consciousness forced his eyes 
down.. . . I always loved you, Letty.” 

“Don’t you suppose I knew?” she whis- 
pered, tremulously. 

«І guess you did at that 

“T had all I could do to keep from throw- 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


ing my arms about you and saying, ‘Here 
І am; take me,’ when we met on the creek." 

Jim shook his head. “I still can't be- 
lieve it," he said. I'm sure the fire and 
smoke must have affected my mind. To 
see you here and have you say you love me 
is incredible enough, but your father—his 
offer to compromise—his attitude toward 
me—" 

"It's true enough, Jim," Letty smiled, 
*but don't be taken in by Father's attitude. 
He'll do all he can to make it as difficult 
for us as possible until he's utterly un- 
bearable. 'Then he'll do one of his amazing 
right-about-faces and be the most tractable 
person in the world." 

Letty suggested that it might be wise 
to take Jim into Wild Horse. 

“I couldn't have better treatment than 

Im getting here," he declared. Mother 
Crockett is quite a doctor herself. I guess 
everybody in the valley has been here ask- 
ing after me." 

Letty said she would be down again be- 
fore the week was over. 

«Га sure like to see you," he said, “but 
I don’t think it would be wise for you to 
come, It’s going to take these people a 
few days to adjust themselves to the new 
order of things. It'll be better if they're 
left to themselves for awhile." 

Letty saw the wisdom of such a course. 

“Tt will be a week then before I see you,” 
she sighed. It will seem 4 

Montana found himself agreeing with her 
as the days passed. He wanted to be up 
and about again. Mother Crockett finally 
consented. When the bandages were re- 
moved Jim found his face had healed nice- 
ly. He had scars on his arms that he would 
carry for life. 

Unfortunately, the peace that had set- 
tled over the valley could not bring back 
happiness to the Box C. The Crocketts 
could not help thinking of Gene and how 
needlessly he had been sacrificed. 

Four days after Letty and her father had 
been there, Montana saddled Paint and 
took his first ride since the fire. It was 
pleasant in the hills. His heart was sing- 
ing with happiness. His future was bright 
with promise. 


WARD evening he turned his horse 
toward home, cutting through the 
reservation. He had reached the crest of 
the last saddle when he saw a rider moving - 
rapidly up the Skull. The pace at which 


GUARDIANS OF THE SAGE 79 


he rode hinted that he came on urgent busi- 
ness. Montana could not make out who 
it was. A vague feeling of disaster touched 
him, and he turned Paint so that he could 
intercept the stranger. 

The man was none other than Graham 
Rand. 

Jim felt his throat tighten. This could 
not herald good news. Graham would not 
have punished his horse to come with tid- 
ings of victory. 
> Rand did not waste any time on a greet- 
ng. 

“Jim, its happened; the sale of the 
reservation has been held unlawful! I got 
the news out of Vickers this morning. The 
whole matter is going to be thrown into 
the courts.” 

It was a blow that left Montana speech- 
less for moments. With victory in his 
grasp—the quarrel settled—this had to 
come up! 

News of the compromise in the valley 
had drifted into Wild Horse. Rand could 
appreciate what his message meant to Mon- 
tana. 

If it only had come a week later," Jim 
groaned, “You know Mr. Stall will never 
go through with it now. When these val- 
ley men get the news it's going to stagger 
them. They’ll end up by blaming me. I 
led them to hope again—and it is going 
to be like knocking a cup of water out of 
the hands of a man dying with thirst to 
make them face this." 

“Well, I figure you've got a day or two 
of grace," Rand said. “The old man can't 
know yet." 

“No, Graham! You're suggesting some- 
thing that you wouldn't do yourself. As 
badly as I feel about this I wouldn't try 
to jam the deal through. Mr. Stall offered 
to play fair—and I've got to play that way, 
too. What do you suppose he'd think of 
me if I tricked him into this? He'd have 
a legal out. He'd use it. I'd be through 
and this crowd down here would be worse 
off than ever.” 

*[ suspected you'd feel that way,” Rand 
replied. “Оп the way over I've been try- 
ing to figure every out you had.” 

The only out for me is to see the old 
man at once and put my cards on the table. 
I don’t know what ІЛІ be able to sa. 
It's just about hopeless, Graham.” 

“It’s tough to go through what you did 
and have it come to nothing," Rand mur- 
mured thoughtfully. "You've got to play 


the string out now, Jim, and if the game 
goes against you, keep your head up." 

They talked it over thoroughly. 

“Better come up to the house," Jim sug- 
gested. “You'll have to stay here over 
night." 

“Think not," said Rand. “They’d won- 
der why I was here. Time enough for 
them to know about this after you've seen 
the old man. III go back to Furnace Creek 
and stay there tonight." 

In the morning, in order to get away 
without exciting Dan's curiosity, Montana 
said he was going up to have a look at the 
mine. Brent offered to go with him. 

“No, Ill have to take it easy,” Jim. 
countered. *I may not get back until eve- 

” 

Once out of sight of the ranch he showed 
no sign of taking it easy. He forced his 
pony where the going was good. By eleven 
o’clock he was in sight of the Bar S house. 
Down by the corrals the men were putting 
the roof on the new bunkhouse. 

Jim was glad to escape them for the mo- 
ment. He could see nothing of Letty or 
her father. The door stood open, how- 
ever, and he walked in. Old Slick-ear was 
at his desk, writing as usual. : 

*Good-morning, Mr. Stall" Montana 
said by way of announcing his presence. 
Old Slick-ear gave him a fierce glance. 

“Well, what brings you here?" he de- 
manded brusquely. “You don't look none 
too happy." 

I've come to throw myself on your 
mercy, Mr. Stall." 

*Hunh?" The old man's mouth straight- 
ened. “I thought we'd settled all that. 
You backing out now?" 

“No, it's not that," said Jim. “I reckon 
it’s a case of giving you a chance to back 
out. I'd do anything I could to see the 
arrangement we made carried through, But 
we couldn’t get anywhere unless we were 
shooting square on both sides. Something 
has come up that compels me to tell you 
that we can’t hold you to your bargain.” 

“Yes?” he glared. “What is it?” 

Jim hesitated over his answer. “171 never 
move him,” he thought. "Well," he said 
finally, you warned me in Wild Horse that 
I was over my head; that you would have 
the sale thrown out by the Land Office... . 
I got word last evening that you'd won." 

Their voices had drawn Letty from her 
room, She came down the stairs hurriedly 
to find the two men confronting each other, 


80 WESTERN ACTION 
her father’s manner as fierce as Jim’s face 
was glum, 

“Jim—why are you here? Is something 
wrong?" 

“Something’s decidedly right!” her father 
exclaimed. 

“Evidently—by the way you're gloat- 
ing," said Letty. 

“The Land Office has thrown out the 
Squaw Valley sale," old Slick-ear informed 
her. *I've got good reason to crow!" 

“So that's what brought Seth MacMas- 
ters here! You’ve known for days that 
the sale had been declared void." 

“Why—” Montana was having trouble 
understanding. Mr. Stall had taken his 
news as though it were a real surprise. 
Letty came to his rescue. 

*Don't be distressed, Jim," she said. 
*Father knew long before we came to see 
you that the decision was in his favor, I 
suppose he has been threatening to back 
out on the agreement." 

“Ts that right, Mr. Stall?" Montana de- 
manded, his jaws clenched. 


HE old man took another turn about 
! the room and then came back to his 
desk. Sit down, Jim—and you, too, 
Letty,” he said, “I'll do a little talking 


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now. Of course I knew the decision was 
in my favor. I even arranged for Vickers 
to let the information slip out to Rand and 
one or two others, figuring they’d get it to 
you. Now Ill tell you why. 

“When I made that offer down at 
Crockett’s place there was a reservation in 
the back of my mind. You two are in love 
with each other. You're going to be my 
son-in-law, Jim. I said to myself, “ГІ test 
him. If he tries to jam this deal through, 
thinking he's taking advantage of me, he'll 
never marry my daughter. If he shoots 
square—I'm with him all the way.“ 

. A long-drawn sigh of relief escaped Mon- 
tana. A smile came back to his lips. Then 
the deal stands?” 

That's what I said," Mr. Stall grum- 
bled. It's costing me plenty. If Letty 
had kept out of this a few minutes longer 
I'd have got some sort of a dividend out 
of you.” The dinner bell broke in on him. 
“Better come in and sit down with us," 
he invited. 

Jim could only shake his head. He felt 
a little dizzy. 

“He’s a hard man to have riding herd on 
you,” he said to Letty. 

“Yes—and his daughter takes after 
him,” she smiled back. 


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CHAPTER I 
LEADVILLE 


HESTNUT Street was roaring. Six 
thousand people filled the sidewalks 
and crowded into the road, where 
freight outfits and Concord coaches strug- 
gled to keep in motion. From daylight to 
daylight this congestion continued. Bull 
whips explodéd over horses which could 
not advance. Volleys of oaths were hurled 
at the massed humanity which could not 
get out of the way. 
Chestnut Street was Leadville, and the 


84 


town was boom wild. In the alleys 
extending back from this main 
thoroughfare lurked as desperate a 
collection of mien as ever invited 
Judge Lynch’s attention. 

In some respects the situation 
was unparalleled. In 265 the town 
“went down,"—was hogged out. 
Another dozen years found it the 
miracle town of the Rockies, 
pitched almost overnight into such 
a fever of greed and prosperity as 
history seldom records. Frame 
shanties, gambling hells and dance 
halls alternated with the substan- 
tial business blocks. Tents sprang up 
on every vacant spot like so many soiled 
mushrooms. The town was long since 
filled up, and yet the silver crazed miners 
poured in. 

There were four lines of coaches bring- 
ing newcomers from the railhead at Web- 
ster, each line shuttling in four loads a 
day—eighty human beings. Another 
coach line ceaselessly hauled in more rain- 
bow chasers from Cañon City. Individuals 
found a fat profit in carrying passengers 
in all sorts of vehicles. The population 
jumped from eight thousand in May to 
twelve thousand by October first. One 


An Action 
Packed 
Novel of the 
Owl-Hoot 


more month would see it more than 
doubled. 

This town, living largely in one street, 
was filled with money. The ground was 
yielding undreamed fortunes. Realty 
values incréased with the population; and 
crime trebled while wealth doubled. Day 
in and day out there was no surcease of 
the din in the mile of Chestnut Street. 

Leon Clint, mountain camp wise, had 
never seen the like. Denver in its busiest 
days was a sleepy town compared with 
this young sister in the mountains. Ре- 
culiarly enough, Denver had ignored 
Leadville and had scoffed at the notion of 
anything worthwhile emanating from it. 
As a result it was Eastern capital that 
rushed in to pick up the bonanza offering; 
and the criminal world awoke to its 
chance. Never did gamblers reap a richer 
harvest. Never did confidence men and 
thugs work more industriously and suc- 
cessfully. 

Leon Clint prided himself on his sophis- 
tication. He was vastly annoyed at find- 
ing himself caught in the endless Lead- 
ville jam. He had arrived from Cafion 
City and had been deposited in the midst 
of the struggling, blaspheming mass be- 
fore he could realize what was before him. 


By Hugh Pendexter 


85 


Р A % > f т 


А bullwhacker’s lash cut across his shoul- 
ders, and his hand would have gone to а 
gun if he could have moved his arms. 
There was а swirlat his back and on his 
left, grotesquely like a fish making a 
strike, and strong arms were threwn about 
him. An unsavory hulk of a man at his 
left was coolly thrusting a hand across his 
breast and into his inside pocket to pull 
out five hundred dollars in greenbacks. It 
did Clint no geod to curse or cry out in 
such a bedlam. Yet he did protest most 
savagely, and attempted to kick the man 
behind him. Instantly he was shoved vio- 
lently ahead to bump against an old man. 
The latter endeavored to face about, and 
cried fiercely— 

“Tryin’ to rob me?" 

“Trying to keep from knocking you off 
your feet. I'm the one who's been robbed," 
shouted Clint. They rammed me against 
you." 


E struggled to turn around, but à 
hairy faced. man in a red shirt 
pushed him along. Then he realized the 
uselessness of it all. He advanced, now 
side by side with the old man, and said: 
“Sorry te bump into you so, but some 
one gave me a push just as another stole 


86 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


my money. What sort of burg is this?” 

“Hell on foot, younker. Hogged out?” 

“Not quite. But if I see the man who 
robbed me ГІ know him again. Big as а 
shanty.” 

“Better forgit him," advised the old 
man. “Here! Crowd in behind this 
freight wagon, then to the sidewalk, then 
into Murphy's where you can git a drink." 

Clint was anxious to get out of the 
street. Clapping a hand on the old man's 
shoulder, he followed closely, and the two 
finally fought their way to a foothold on 
the sidewalk. It required some maneu- 
vering to get into the saloon, but once in- 
“ag they found room at the end of the 

ar. 

Ain't this town a daisy?” exclaimed 
the old man admiringly. 

“You called it something else out on the 
street. I think I will eat. Folks are eat- 
ing at the table. You'll eat with me." 

For the first time the old man took time 
to look Clint over. 

"What's your name? 
game?" he inquired. 

“Leon Clint, fortune hunter, rainbow 
chaser. And your name, if we're going to 
be curious?” 

„Old Carhonate. I was опе of the first 
—of course I claim I was fhe first—to tell 
the fools that the heavy, reddish sand, and 
the big reddish black rocks, is carbonate 
of lead, carrying much silver. Idiots had 
been cussin' it and passin’ it up and huntin’ 
for gold. They began callin’ me Old Car- 
bonate, and it stuck. Where is your for- 
‘tune to be found? Along what trail?” 

“Faro, poker, monte, real estate, min- 
ing property.” 

“Faro and poker are healthy, nourishin’ 
~ games, but I don’t like that Spanish top 
and bettom layout. Been cleaned too 
many times. But if that thief cleaned you 
out, then the trail’s closed to you, huh?” 

“Got a little side money left. But if I 
can find the sneak who picked my pocket 
while another held my arms—” 

“Just what will you do?” 

“Shove a gun under his nose and make 
him fork over.” 

“And have him yelp to his mates that 
he’s being robbed. Let’s fight our way to 
that corner table. If a waiter can’t git to 
us we'll at least have a squattin’ place." 

He started. They left a wake of trod- 
den feet and hearty curses, but gained 
their objective. 


What's your 


As the two ate deer meat Clint's eyes 
searched the shifting crowd. Old. Car- 
bonate asked— 

*Where'll you put up?” 

*Out in the pines and sage somewheres, 
with the sky for a blanket. I've fifty 
E away, but I can't waste that on 

s." 

*What you goin' to do to git started?" 

*Rap the tables till I can get a stake to- 
gether and go prospecting." 

“Know anything about prospectin'?" 

*Have done some placer mining." 


LD CARBONATE sighed for the 

days when a man might be in bon- 

anza with the aid of pick, shovel and pan. 
He quietly explained: 

The prospectin' game here is different 
than it used to be. Silver's the big card. 
Fools have been tryin' not to find it since 
'63. . Kept rollin' big rocks out the way 
that was heavy as lead.  Cussin' blue 
streaks along of the reddish sand they 
couldn't wash out of the fine gold. When 
I struck it and found it was the same 
specific gravity as gold I got cur'ous. Of 
course, I found it was carbonate of lead, 
loaded almost with pure silver." 

“You don't think I'd stand much chance 
because of my ignorance?" 

*Not in Nevada, Californy, nor the 
Northern camps; but here, your ignorance 
prob’ly will save your hide. Why, I could 
have bought the Robert E. Lee for fifteen 
hundred dollars, but I knew the game too 
well. Had the money, but wouldn't have 
given fifteen dollars. No siree! I know 
the game backward. A wise old bird. I 
could see there was nothin’ there but a lot 
of exercise. And they took out a hundred 
and eighteen thousand dollars in twenty- 
four hours at a cost of less than three hun- 
dred dollars. If some machinery hadn't 
busted they’d took out a hundred and 
fifty thousand. Being ignorant of the 
game, you ought to make a hit. Two fool 
shoemakers from Pittsburg made us laugh 
till we was sick by startin’ diggin’ on top 
of a hill. And at twenty-eight feet down 
they struck what's now called The Little 
Pittsburg. Werth millions and millions. 

“But you mustn’t sleep outdoors. I 
have a shack, if the lot jumpers ain't tore 
it down since sunset. You can turn in 
there and welcome. If the jumpers come 
you can pay for your lodgin's by helpin' 
me stand 'em off." 


. 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE 87 


“Gladly. Ill stand them off alone. 
Iu—" 

He breke off to stare at a fresh stream 
of people from the street. Then he was 
softly saying: 

“Look! Look! The two men at the 
head of the line. Now they are at the 
foot of the bar. See the red shirt? And 
the big man? Hairy face. Red shirt held 
my arms, pushed me against your vener- 
able back. T’other one took my money.” 

As Clint rose from his seat Old Car- 
bonate seized his wrist and growled: 

"What's the game now? You cant 
'dentífy money. What you thinkin’ of 
doing?" 

“Climb Hairy Face and make him fork 
over.” 

“And have the whole line lickin’ your 
head in!” 

The warning was timely. Clint sent his 
scowling glance up and down the bar, seek- 
ing an inspiration. Beyond the lower end 
of the bar was a door, He asked his com- 
panion: 

“Where does that door lead? 
to duck out?” 

“Мату a chance. Opens into a card 
room where they trim suckers. They'll 
take & rich Easterner in there, lock the 
door and skin him to the hide." 

Clint sat down and finished his supper; 
but as he ate his gaze was ever wandering 
up and down the line of boisterous drink- 
ers. Coming to his feet, he announced: 

“T must prospect that bunch. I sha'n't 
start a fight. "They've robbed so many 
people they won't recognize me. Stay here." 

He began working toward the bar. He 
jerked about as he felt a hand on his shoul- 
der. It was Old Carbonate. 

Behind the big man Clint stood and sur- 
veyed his huge bulk for a moment. 

‘Hurry up with that bottle!” bellowed 
the red shirted man. 

“In just a second, Knifer, please,” cried 
the nearest bartender. 

„He's a hellion,” whispered Carbonate. 
“Peller next to him is Bill Cain.” 


Chance 


A SURGE of the crowd sent Clint 
against Cain. With a roar the man 
turned and grabbed Clint with one huge 
hand. Instantly he received a kick on the 
shins that caused him to yélp in pain and 
rage and snatch his hand away. Before 
he could make another move Clint was 
loudly proclaiming: 


“Tf you want to fight just step into that 
room alone with me. I’ve got fifty dollars 
that says I can lick you.” 

Bill Cain would gladly have grabbed 
him by the neck and dragged him into the 
card room for the privilege of robbing him 
of five dollars. He grinned savagely at 
the young man, obviously a newcomer 
who did not know to whom he was talk- 
ing. 

“So that’s the way the little kitty jumps, 
eh? Then just put up your money with 
the barkeep. If you walk from that room 
it’s yours.” 

“Fine. What about your fifty? Can’t 
you raise fifty?” 

Cain had not recognized him. Glaring 
wrathfully, he pulled out a package of 
greenbacks, stripped off the amount of the 
wager and handed it to an obsequious bar- 
tender. Then he nodded to the man in 
the red shirt and said— 

“My friend here will go along to see 
fair play.” 

The knowing ones grinned broadly at 
the idea of Bill Cain needing a referee to 
protect him from unfair tactics. 

“He'll go as far as the door along of 
me," spoke up Old Carbonate. “The two 
of us will wait outside till the fuss is over." 
He spoke carelessly, but his heart ached 
for the young man. 

J usually go where I want to," said 
Knifer softly. "I've seen you before. I'm 
going to remember you." 

“This time you want to stay outside 
that door. And I shall remember you. 
We'll pass the time tellin’ each other 
pretty stories." Carbonate decorated his 
nonsense by dropping a hand on his heavy 


45. 

“Stand outside, Knifer. I'll need lots of 
room to swing him in. We'll both leave 
our guns." 

'The crowd was all tiptoe with excite- 
ment. Wagers were vainly offered on the 
outcome of the fight until Old Carbonate, 
because of loyalty to his new acquaintance, 
accepted a bet of three to one and placed 
a hundred dollars in the bartender's hands. 
Clint and Cain walked to the door, fol- 
lowed by their two seconds. Each handed 
over his lethal weapons, and Clint told his 
backer— 

“I'll be out in a few minutes.” 

“Make it quick," urged Old Carbonate, 
with a deep yawn. 

He dreaded the spectacle he should be- 


88 WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


hold when the door next opened. Knifer 
glared down at the old man and whis- 
pered— 

“Vou won't see this dude alive again.” 

Clint stepped aside so that Cain should 
enter the room first. His object in doing 
this was to bolt the door to keep the parti- 
sans out. The room was some twelve feet 
square, and a big table occupied the cen- 
ter. Cain tipped this up against the wall 
with a flourish of one hand and faced his 
adversary and paused to gloat. 

“Are you all ready?” asked Clint, his 
arms hanging limply. 

“I be. I'm Фош to—" 

The heel of Clint's palm, backed by a 
stiff arm, caught him under the chin and 
caused his jaws to grind together and his 
big head to snap back. Almost at the 
same moment the young man's fist was 
buried in the fat stomach, instantly fol- 
lowed by a left hook to the jaw, then a 
right that bounced Cain's head against the 
wall. The double tattoo caused those out- 
side the door to grin in happy anticipation. 
Old Carbonate was an exception, but he 
forced a smile. 

Inside the room Cain was swinging his 
arms wildly. Ignorant of boxing, and 
softened by his excesses, he found his bulk 
a hindranee rather than a help. He al- 
ways had fought with every advantage on 
his side. Clint's stiff smashes were wreck- 
ing him. Не could feel his eyes closing, 
feel his vision going. Shrieking like a wild 
animal, he endeavored to flounder clear of 
the terrible wall which seemed to leap for- 
ward and smite him. Then a blow, start- 
‘ing from the hip, and having behind it 
every ounce of Clint's one hundred and 
sixty pounds, caught him under the ear. 
He slumped to the floor. 

Working with great haste, Clint explored 
'the man's pockets and found his money, 
minus the amount of the wager. Then he 
'paused for a moment to brush his hair with 
his hands and rearrange his necktie. 

The sound of the blows caused those in 
the know to shiver with brutal expectancy 
and picture the sight they would behold 
.when the door opened. They heard the 
bolt scrape and they gave ground. Knifer 
` grinned malevolently at his friends and 
chuckled silently as he observed Old Car- 
bonate's somber eyes. 

“Where’ll you have the pup sent, old 
man?" he asked. 

Before Carbonate could think of a re- 


ply the door was suddenly thrown wide, 
and Clint stood on the threshold. Beyond 
him, visible to those who could view the 
interior of the card room, was a woefully 
beaten mass propped against the wall. 

“Gawdfrymighty!” cried Knifer weakly, 
his hand crawling to the weapon from 
which he derived his name. 

Old Carbonate’s eyes filled with tears of 
joy. His throat felt tight. The crowd drew 
back as Clint advanced to the bar and said 
to the stakeholder— 

“My gun and the wagers, please.” 

The bartender hesitated. The rough 
element in the saloon greatly outnumbered 
the decent. And the latter had ne com- 
munity of interest, as they were mostly 
strangers to one another, 

“ГІ reckon we'll wait till Cain says it 
was on the level," said the bartender. 

“Looks like foul play!” shouted a deep 
voice. 

The long barrel of Carbonate’s .45 slid 
over Knifer’s shoulder, and the old man’s 
voice was as strident and peremptory as 
a rattlesnake’s warning as he growled— 

“Even Frodsham can’t save your hide, 
you poor fool, if you don’t hand over my 
friend’s wager and mine.” 


HE bartender glanced toward the big 

man at the back of the room, Frod- 
sham, acknowledged leader of the lot jump- 
ers. Then he looked into the muzzle of the 
.45; and he hastily handed over the money 
and Clint’s gun. Men were now crowding 
into the card room. Old Carbonate leaned 
against the bar, spinning his revolver. He 
told Clint— 

“Walk to the end of the bar and wait 
for me.” 

Those at the bar fell back as Clint 
passed to the street end of the room, his 
retreat covered by Carbonate’s .45. Halt- 
ing near the door, he drew his weapon and 
stood guard until his friend joined him. 
'They baeked to the door, with Carbonate 
flinging behind him the warning— 

*Tt won't be safe for anybody to be 
bustin’ loose from this place for the next 
two minutes." 

With that they gained the sidewalk and 
plunged into the milling mass. Fighting 
against the currents of traffic, the two 
finally gained the opposite side of the 
street. Instead of turning to right, or 
left, Carbonate passed between the build- 
' ings and gained the sage brush. Much of 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE 89 


the clamor of the town left behind, Old 
Carbonate threw himself on the ground 
and breathed in deep relief. 

“Whew!” he exclaimed. When I heard 
Frodsham chippin’ in I reckoned we was 
in for a fight. But I’m sartain now Frod- 
sham decided to wait, but he ain’t forgot 
us. Oh, no!” 

“А bunch of cheap crooks,” snarled 
Clint. “I’m going to catch that boy in the 
red shirt and swing on him.” 

“You keep away from Knifer, my son. 
He earned his name. Not once in a million 
years can you pull off what you did in 
that card room. Now tell me all about it, 
every little scrid. Just burnin’ up. with 
curiosity.” 

Clint was silent for a bit, as if reassem- 
bling his recollections of the battle in or- 
derly array. Then he said: 

“I hit him several times and took my 
money from him. That's about all that 
happened in the card room. Where we 
going from here?" 

“Dawggone! But ГІ have the story 
of that battle out of you if I have to choke 
it from you. Goin’ to my shack on my 
eighteen hundred dollar lot that I bought 
for two hundred and fifty dollars a month 
ago. For a mile along here, the ground is 
all staked out. Named it Harrison Ave- 
nue. Lot jumpers are worse’n the seven 
plagues of Egypt. But let’s be movin’. Only 
a bit of a walk now. That's my place 
ahead. Remember, you're a marked man 
from now on— Mighty queer—light burn- 
in’, Old Man Vail must ’a’ dropped in to 
see me." 

Even as he spoke the light vanished. A 
heavy voice called: 

“Who are you? What do you want? 
Don’t skulk back there. We can see you.” 

“Damn’ their pesky hides! They've 
jumped me!” whispered Old Carbonate. 
“І can make out three figgers." 

Then he raised his voice and called: 
“Hello, the house! Two men wantin’ a 
place te sleep.” 

“Clear out, or you'll wake up in a big 
bedroom in hell!” warned the deep voice, 

Clint felt his gun yanked from his belt. 
The next moment the old man, with both 
guns cocked, was racing ahead and crying: 

“Come on, boys! We’ve bagged ’em this 
time.” 

With that he opened fire at the vague 
figures standing in front of the house. 
Clint teok his cue and shouted wildly. 


The lot jumpers, perhaps fearing that they 
had been surrounded, leaped away into the 
brush, one man limping and another hold- 
ing his broken arm. 

“Makes twice in two weeks I’ve had to 
shoot my way into my own home,” said 
Carbonate. “Соте in and I'll fix up some 
grub. I don't think they'll come back to- 
night. They usually come in broad day- 
light. Big and bold as Billy-be-damn'. To- 
morrow I'l take you to a real home—the 
Vails. Friends I spoke of." 


CHAPTER II 
Сілмт Buys A Lor 


: EXT morning, while cooking ham 
and eggs, Old Carbonate repeated 
his warning to Clint. 

"You're a marked man. Don't go out 
after nine o'clock at night. Don’t pass 
close to the mouth of an alley, day or 
night. And they won't be slow to jump 
you, almost anywhere even in the day- 
time." 

*Y don't see as I can go out at all. What 
about you? You stood by me. Looks as if 
I had drawn you into trouble." 

“Tve got so much cussed trouble with 
these lot jumpers that what you fetch 
along won't make much difference. You 
haven't any particular line of business?" 

“Just looking for chances. Play cards 
some. Speculate in mining property, in 
land, іп horses. Anything to turn a decent 
profit." 

*Small chance in mining property here 
for you. Easterners got the bulge on us. 
'They control all the big mines." 

I'm after a small mine. I'll find one 
and sell it," Clint promptly decided. “Тһе 
way this town acts up Га say any ten foot 
hole ought to find an easy market among 
the Easterners.” 

*Prob'ly will. I know one, just ten foot 
deep, that sold for ten thousand. Good 
joke on the Eastern buyers till it paid half 
a million in eight months." 

Clint nodded and remained silent for a 
minute. Then he said: 

“Carbonate, you've been kind to me. 
I'll tell you, and no one else, that I have 
an ace up my sleeve. You've heard of 
the Espinosas?" 

“Good land! Have I heard of the 
moon? Who ain't heard of those murder- 
ers? Killed some forty people in cold 
biood. Thank the Lord they're wiped out! 


90 WESTERN ACTION 
What truck could you have along of 
them?” 

Clint did not reply for a bit. The Es- 
pinosas had won a place in mountain his- 
tory because of their terrible deeds. Be- 
ginning in the spring of 1863 the inhabi- 
tants of El Paso County were horrified 
by a series of mysterious murders. The 
assassins’ trail was found near the Red 
Hill and followed southwest of Pike’s 
Peak. The murders continued until one 
of the brothers was shot in South Park. 
The other was killed by the veteran moun- 
tain man, Tom Tobin, near Veta Pass. 
Clint explained briefly— 

“What the Espinosas or their followers 
hid is the ace I have in my sleeve.” 

Old Carbonate grimaced. 

“They didn’t seem to kill for profit; 
more like crazy men.” 

“Those who went with them took a 
profit. A big one—all in gold.” 

“Mebbe. But it almost seems best that 
it never should be found. Might fetch 
bad. luck." 

“Still folks are always keen to find pi- 
rate gold. How much of Leadville's money 
that hasn't been stolen by some one, at 
some time, that hasn't passed through the 
hands of a murderer? I'm not supersti- 
tious. I’m taking a whack at it.” 

“Then you must have some idee where 
it’s to be found,” prompted Old Carbon- 
ate. 

“A mighty good idea. No blind chase 
for me. You've stood by me. What say 
if we throw together and split even.” 

Carbonate was not enthusiastic. His 
love for adventure had kept him on a 
wanderer’s path, and he retained a boy’s 
zest for prying into the unknown. The 
dour face of danger had never kept him 
from a strange path. To balance this blind 
urge was a fine discrimination in choosing 
his partners. Clint had appealed to him 
because of his readiness to fight for his 
money. So far as he had gaged the young 
man he liked him, but he required more 
than a twelve hour acquaintanceship to 
reach a definite decision. 

“Probably a wild goose chase,” he re- 
marked. “But we'll talk about it later— 
Why, if here ain’t Hiram Vail, as honest 
а man as ever wore shoe leather! АП 
dressed up! Wonder why he ain’t at 
work.” 

He jumped up and ran to the door to 
greet the newcomer. 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


_ Vail was inclined to be portly, The sug- 
gestion was augmented by his bushy 
goatee. The solemn, almost sanctimonious 
expression of the florid face, rather than 
the long Prince Albert coat, reminded 
Clint of a church elder back East. 

Carbonate greeted his friend as warmly 
as if they had been parted for years. He 
stood off for a better perspective and 
gazed at him admiringly. - 

“Well, if clothes don't suit you, Hi- 
ram," he exclaimed. 

“T believe one should do oneself jus- 
tice," replied Vail modestly, as he stared 
over his friend's shoulder to take inven- 
tory of Clint, Carbonate remembered his 
manners and made the two known to each 
other, and then inquired— 

“You’ve had your breakfast, of course?" 


AIL pursed his lips as if weighing his 
LV. answer. 

"In & way of speaking, yes. That is, 
I took my place at the table. In the way 
of real victuals I must say no. Reckon Ill 
have a snack of your prime ham and eggs." 

An extra plate was put on the table and 
Old Carbonate inquired: = 

How happen you're loafin’, dressed 
like а Roman king? Thought you had to 
work overtime.” 

“Pump broke down,” Vail explained 
huskily between mouthfuls. “Му shift 
laid off till it can be mended. And I ain’t 
wanted round the house. Lawd knows I 
ain’t welcome anywhere unless it’s here.” 

“Minnie on the rampage again?” Car- 
bonate radiated admiration as he asked 
the rather personal question. To Clint he 
explained— 

“Minnie’s his wife." 

"Yes, my wife," sighed Vail. “A good 
woman, but too stingy. The boy and 
girl get more to eat than I do, but not 
enough. Far from enough. Well, that’s my 
hard luck, What’s new, Carbonate?” 

“Nothin’—oh, I was forgettin' We was 
jumped last night by some Frodsham’s 
gang. Come home as innercent as kit- 
tens and found the skunks in possession.” 

“They tried to jump us while I was at 
the mine, but Minnie fired a double-barrel 
shotgun out the window and peppered half 
a dozen pair of legs. Kill any of yours?” 
Hit two or more. Next time old Frod- 
sham sets 'em on to me there will be sev- 
eral burials. What you doin’ with your 
holiday?” 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE 


“Nothing. Just keeping clear of the 
house. Thought I’d walk over and ask 
you to eat dinner with us. Sort of make 
it easier for me. But just how Minnie 
will take an extry I can’t say.” 

“I’m dining elsewhere, Mr. Vail,” said 
Clint. 

“No, siree!” roared Vail with unex- 
pected warmth. “My wife can starve me, 
but Ill be jiggered if she can keep me 
down all the time." 

„That's the proper spirit, Hiram. Don't 
lose your self-respect,” encouraged Car- 
bonate. 

*[ won't. You're coming with Carbon- 
ate, Mr. Clint. I want to find out just 
where I stand in my own home." 

“Thanks, but I've promised to eat with 
a friend." 

Vail finished a hearty meal and stretched 
his arms and exclaimed: 

“Lawdy! If a man could have a break- 
fast like that every morning instead of 
mush, or porridge. I git five dollars a day 
on the pump. The girl fetches home her 
wages. She works in a dry goods store. It 
would seem that we have money enough 
coming in to live decent. But you know 
how close Minnie is, Carbonate. Good 
woman, but narrow in some ways." 

€*Er-huh. I understand Minnie pretty 
well. Boy on the same job?" 

Vail slowly shook his head. 

“Тәуе tried to shame him, but he seems 
to be а scatterbrain. Can't take it from 
his mother, as all her folks was misers. 
None behind me that I know of, who was 
scared of honest work. Fact is, town's too 
fast for him. Swept him off his feet with 
so much heorooin' and wild talk about 
picking up million dollar mines. I 
wouldn't mind so much if there wasn't 
the danger of his gitting in with the wrong 
kind of people." 

Old Carbonate shook his head sorrow- 
fully. 

“Hard to drive that kind. But some- 
times you can coax them along. Good 
stuff in the boy. Clint and me may take 
a little rainbow chasin’ trip. We might 
take him along.” 

“Ра have to see and talk with the 
young man first,” Clint said hurriedly. 
“There may be а certain amount of danger 
in my project." 

“Danger!” scoffed Vail, his broad face 
now shining. “When you project danger 
my son Bert will eat it up. Fine lad. 


91 


You'll like him. You'll meet him this 
noon." 

Once more Clint explained that he had 
an engagement with a friend, but neither 
of the two men appeared to hear it, He 
was much disappointed by Carbonate’s 
readiness to take on partners in the search 
for the hidden gold. He did not bother 
again to refuse the dinner invitation, 


FTER Vail had departed Old Car- 
bonate said— 

*Sort of feel touchy along of my speak- 
ing of your business?" 

‘Why, I had supposed we would keep 
it to ourselves,” Clint frankly admitted. 

The old man chuckled. 

“Might as well try to hush up folks 
when they talk about a pirate’s treasure. 
Lots of folks out here have wondered if 
the Espinosas got much gold; and if they 
did, where did they hide it? Some have 
tried to find it ahead of you. But you, 
mebbe, has a pretty straight tip.” 

“I know where it is," said Clint quietly. 

“Dawggone, you young bluffer! Almost 
had me believing it. Never mind. It'll 
be good exercise for you. Let's look at the 
town. I won't bother to wash the dishes 
as the shack prob'ly will be jumped while 
we're away, І won't leave clean plates for 
the scuts to eat from." 

Clint put on his hat and asked— 

“Just who is this Frodsham you have 
mentioned seyeral times?" 

“Stepbrother to the devil. Got a big 
crowd behind him. Just sticks to jumpin’ 
lots. Been in court lots of times, but the 
gang is ready to swear him clear. Some of 
his crowd go in for murder and robbery." 

The two walked through the sagebrush 
toward Chestnut Street. Near the thor- 
oughfare they came upon an animated 
scene. A small mob of men were driving 
carpenters from the framework of a 
house. 

“There you have it!” cried Carbonate 
softly. *Frodsham's gang has jumped it." 

“And those men will let the roughs run 
them off?" demanded Clint in disgust. 

“Тһеуте builders, not fighters," said 
Carbonate. Now the jumpers will tear 
down what's built and put up a new 
frame with new lumber. Frodsham is 
clever that way. Makes it look as if he 
was honest and only wanted his own.“ 

The man who was directing the work 
of destruction turned around and called: 


ж 


92 WESTERN ACTION 


“Hi, there, you two men, Clear out. 
"You're not wanted here." 

“You couldn't run me out if I belonged 
here," Clint told him. 

The man started toward him. One of 
his men halted him and whispered, and 
he studied Clint with new interest. Then, 
in disgust, he cried: | 

“That runt lick Bill Cain? Don't make 
me laugh. I've got a sore lip.” 

“Put your gun to one side along with 
mine and I'll lick you as easily as I licked 
Cain," challenged Clint. 

"Hush, hush,” murmured Old Carbon- 
ate. “You can’t fight every one in Lead- 
ville.” 

“T can fight some of them,” answered 
Clint. “Especially if they are jumpers.” 


HE dispossessed owner now sidled up 
1 to Clint. He was a small man with 
watery eyes. Clutching Clint’s arm, he 
asked eagerly— 

„What il you give me for rights in this 
place, mister?” He spoke softly so as not 
to be overheard by the jumpers. 

“Vou quitting, and not coming back?” 

“1 sure be. No man can own and hold 
a house in this tarnation place. I gave 
five hundred for the lot. Cleared it and 
started to build. I was offered fifteen hun- 
dred for it a week ago. But, like a fool, I 
held out for more. I’m through. A gang 
runs things here. Police are in with ’em, 
I reckon. My title’s good. But if you 
haven't guts to defend it you don’t want it 
at any price. I'm no fighter." 

*His title is as good as mine," spoke up 
Old Carbonate. “But you don’t want to 
mix in.” 

Clint pondered for a minute and then 
decided: 

«І think I do want to chip in. 111 give 
you two hundred dollars for the lot and 
what's left of the building." 

“You own a prime lot," said the man 
heartily. Just wait till I can draw up a 
paper, passing title to you." 

He went to one side and with a piece of 
paper on a board began writing The 
leader of the toughs was both curious and 
angry. He approached Clint belligerent- 
ly and demanded: 

“Just what's your game here, mister? 
You’re not wanted here. "You're tres- 
passing.” 

Clint made no reply. The bully took 
fresh heart and became profanely abusive. 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


Old Carbonate tried to pull his companion 
away. It hurt him to see the great change 
in Clint. In the beginning he had been 
brash enough, too much so, Carbonate 
thought. And now, silence. Clint shook 
off the friendly hand and remained star- 
ing at the foul-mouthed bully. 

“And you was saying you could cut my 
comb if I’d put my gun aside,” he jeered. 
“Well, I ain’t going to bother to unbelt my 
gun, but I’m going to knock you so far 
you can’t even write back.” 

With that warning he swung a tremen- 
dous blow at Clint’s head. Clint did not 
move from his tracks. He simply ducked 
and rolled his head, then with an upper- 
cut he lifted his man from the ground and 
measured him on his back. Without turn- 
ing his head he demanded— 

“That transfer ready, neighbor?” 

“Here goes my name. Gimme the 
money afore he gits up.” 


TILL watching the prostrate figure, 
Clint handed over his roll and told his 
companion: 

*Pay him two hundred out of that. But 
first see if the paper reads all right, and 
have two of the men witness it." 

“All hunkydory. A sweet lambastin' 
you give him,” cried Carbonate. “Mister 
Man, have two of your men witness that 
paper and then take your two hundred.” 

The bully scrambled to his feet and 
glared wrathfully at Clint. One hand stole 
toward а gun, but the young man shook 
his head slowly and the hostile gesture 
ended. 

“Here’s your paper, signed by two 
other men,” said the original owner. “It’s 
your lot now, if you can hold it."  . 

Clint snatched the paper and hastily 
read it through. Satisfied, he drew a gun 
and advanced on the gaping ruffians. 
He fired a shot through a board that a 
man was trying to tear loose from a joist. 

“Next one through your thick head, 

Every one off my property.” 
- As a token he sent two more bullets 
close to as many shaggy heads. With cries 
of fear the ruffians ceased their labors and 
stampeded. Clint wheeled about and found 
Carbonate toying with a .45 and closely 
watching the leader. Clint motioned for 
the latter to turn about. As the man 
obeyed, his gun was yanked from his belt 
and hurled far into the sagebrush, 

“Vamoose!” 


* 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE 93 


The one word, accented by a foot drawn 
back for a kick, sent the man racing after 
his mates. 

“You didn’t oughter do this,” said Old 
Carbonate. 

*You ran them off from your place." 

“Sure. My title never was questioned. 
But you've jumped in, not to defend a 
home, but to buy one. Frodsham will go 
into court with a crowd of witnesses. The 
man you bought it of has skedaddled. 
Frodsham will say you're a jumper. More 
likely he'll have you dropped at night, and 
the matter won't ever git into court." 

“This is my property, the first home I 
ever owned," Clint insisted. “They may 
tear down the rest of the building, but 
they can't steal the lot. If I find any 
roughs here again 111 shoot them out from 
under their hats." 

“That’s powerful talk to pass along with 
war terbaccer, but you can't fight all the 
crooks in Leadville. Well, let's be gittin' 
on. Sure you won't go to the Vails?” 

*Absolutely sure. A man who lets his 
wife run him shouldn't tell the neighbors 
about it, nor ask company home to din- 
ner." : à 

“Very good. Now Ill show you the 
best eatin’ place in Leadville. Then I'll 
eat with the Vails. You walk ahead and 
III keep you covered from behind. Take 
the middle of the street when you strike 
into Chestnut. Keep. away from the al- 
leys." 

They turned into the milling mass of ve- 
hicles and the crowding, complaining mass 
of humanity. 

“Where’s the Clarendon Hotel?” Clint 
asked over his shoulder. 

“Out to hell’n gone. Folks ’r’ crazy to 
build way out there in the brush.” 

Before the summer was over The Clar- 
endon was to be the heart of the new 
metropolis. 

«І was going to take you in there to 
eat," Clint explained. 

„I'm eating with the Vails. But Il 
pick you the best place in town. Turn 
in between these two stores." 

This course took them away from the 
congested street and into a recently opened 
section. 

There's nothing out here in the way of 
restaurants," complained Clint. 

“Best place in town for eats. Too far 
out to be crowded. Turn in here.” 

“Dammit! I’m not a horse. Stop driv- 


ing me. Walk along at my side. Why, 
this must be a private house.” 

Clint halted at the foot of steps leading 
to a small veranda. The door swung open 
with a bang and Hiram Vail, in a hard 
boiled shirt, but lacking his long coat, stood 
with both hands extended. Through 
Clint’s mind there flashed an old woodcut 
from a child’s history, depicting Samoset 
welcoming the Pilgrims at what was to be 
Plymouth. 

“You darned old liar!” Clint muttered 
at Carbonate. 

“Best place in town to eat—nary a lie. 
I’m going to eat with the Vails. My 
words, I stick to 'em. Howdy, Hiram. 
My young friend changed his mind and 
came along for dinner.” 

“Your young friend is going 

Clint halted as.if suddenly deprived of 
the power of speech. A brown haired, 
demure eyed young woman was now stand- 
ing beside Vail. Her eyes danced; she was 
beautiful. 


THOUT any formality she ran 
down the steps and extended a slim 
hand, saying: 

*We're powerful glad to meet you, Mr. 
Clint, Daddy has been telling us that you 
were coming to dinner. I'm Blanche Vail. 
And here is mother." 

Clint blushed and shifted his gaze. A 
plump, smiling matron, with kindly gray 
eyes, was bustling down the steps to seize 
his hand and work it as she would a pump 
handle. 

“Mighty glad you came along. When 
that Hiram told me I was afraid he was 
lying again. Don’t ever believe anything 
he tells you." 

“Т never will again," said Clint. 

With an ominous glance at her spouse, 
Mrs. Vail went on— 

*Probably told you he was half starved, 
that he had a stingy wife.” 

*Now, mother. Now, mother," weakly 
expostulated Vail. 

“Ves, he did," frankly confessed Clint. 
*And he has his mate in the man behind 
He 

*Hiram Vail never said a word, Minnie, 
he wouldn't say right in front of you and 
the children. And, Minnie—" 

“Shut up, you old hypocrite. Come 
right in, Mr. Clint. We're ready to sit 
down." 

They filed into the house and the 


# 


94 


matron bustled about in the final prepara- 
tion of the dinner. The girl removed a 
huge turkey from the oven, and Hiram, 
beaming of countenance, tucked a napkin 
under his chin and proceeded to serve. 

Old Carbonate noticed the vacant chair 
and asked— 

„Where's Bert?" 

Mrs. Vail dropped & spoon on the floor. 
Her husband looked worried. The girl Jost 
her smite, but she was quite brave, and re- 
plied readily: 

„He'll be here soon. Не must be." 

But he did not come. His absence 

clouded the feast, although the Vails en- 
deavored not to allow their worries to 
‘reach their guests. After the dinner and 
&n hour of chatting Clint rose to go. Ordi- 
narily he would have enjoyed remaining. 
But there was a restraint, a makebelieve 
tthat told him the family should be left 
alone. They followed him to the door, 
Old Carbonate electing to stay longer. The 
girl walked with him to the rough begin- 
ning of a street, her eyes no longer spar- 
kling. She explained: 

*Your coming has helped us a lot. We 
have been a bit unhappy, you know, My 
brother hasn't been home since yesterday 
morning. He's only seventeen and very no- 
tional. He's a good boy at heart, but 
easily influenced. Father pleased us very 
much by saying you would take him on 
a trip into the mountains. Не seems to 

. crave excitement. If you can get him away 
from Leadville for a bit I'm sure his 
thoughts will straighten out." 

“Where I am going there will be much 
excitement, perhaps. Very likely there 
will be some danger, Miss Blanche." 

He glanced down and was surprised to 
discover that he was holding her hand. 

“Т shall be pleased to take him along," 
he said, and departed. 


CHAPTER III 
AFTER THE Рот оғ GOLD 


LINT was disgruntled, He was com- 
mitted to taking an irresponsible 
young man along on the treasure 

quest. He was incensed at his own asinin- 
ity in prematurely divulging his secret to 
Old Carbonate. He was angry that the 
latter should have mentioned the secret to 
Vail. 
of mind as he swung into the confusion of 
Chestnut Street and proceeded to force 


WESTERN ACTION 


All in all, he was in a fretful state. 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


his way through the crush of pedestrians. 

As he ate his supper in a crowded res- 
taurant he read the partial record of yes- 
terday’s crimes in the Reveille, the town's 
first newspaper. For one interested in 
crimes there was no place in the United 
States offering more for a dime. The sheet 
was filled with holdups arid other rascal- 
ities. Had Old Carbonate failed to en- 
lighten him on the necessity of going 
armed, the newspaper would have supplied 
that warning. An editorial stated that con- 
ditions were so deplorable as to keep all 
but the reckless, drunk, and vicious indoors 
after dark unless taking to the street in 
company of stanch friends. 

Clint believed that this statement was 
somewhat overdrawn, for surely all the 
mass of milling men swarming the long 
thoroughfare could not be even potential 
criminals. Yet the instances cited, as oc- 
curring during the last twenty-four hours, 
surely portrayed & very vicious condition 
of affairs, Men were named who were 
robbed at their doors and in their beds. 
There was no denying that miners went 
about in squads for self-protection. 

Finishing his supper, he made his way 
to the Keno. He was not keen to play, 
but he did not care to return to Carbon- 
ate’s shack ahead of the old man. 
Gregarious by nature, he craved co - 
ionship. He watched a faro game and de- 
cided that the bank was not adding it to 
its natural advantage by any crooked play. 
He wagered modestly at first and ran 
about even. Then he plunged until he 
was four" undred dollars ahead. 

From faro he shifted to the "top and 
bottom" table. The patronage was so 
heavy that the monte dealer was running 
out each deal without drumming up trade. 
Dropping fifty, he passed on to the twen- 
ty-one and secured a seat. He became 
conscious of some one leaning against his 
chair. When he glanced up he recognized 

. the man as one who had stood beside him 
at the monte layout. At the end of the 
deal he made for the end of the room 
where several poker games were in prog- 
ress. Again he found himself near the 
man who had kept at his side ever since 
he entered the place. The man's nose 
was flattened, as if by a terrific blo w. 
Pressing close to him, Clint said— ; 

“Don’t trail me any more.” | 

The man was taken aback, but at- 
tempted to bluster— = 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE 95 


“You own this place?” 
“Remember, don't follow 
more!" 


me any 


With that he crossed the room. At the 


exit he turned and looked back. The man 
stood at the bar; talking with another who 
stood with his back to the door. As he 
talked his eyes were focused on Clint. 
Then Clint went outside. 

He stepped to one side and peered 
through the window. The man with the 
flat nose was making for the door with a 
swarthy faced fellow. At the door the 
two halted and one turned back to the bar. 
The swarthy one took to the street. He 
glanced up and down, craning his neck, his 
eyes searching sharply. Clint came for- 
ward and stood at his elbow. The fellow 
was startled, but quickly recovered his 
composure and began whistling, his gaze 
idly roving over the animated scene. 

Clint caught him behind the ear with a 
blow, knocking him down, and slipped into 
the endless procession of men. When he 
came to the turn which led through the 
sagebrush to Old Carbonate's home, he 
struggled clear of the procession. Then 
he walked with a gun in his hand. 

He came to the partly demolished 
framewerk of the house which he had 
bought, and was surprised to find any of 
it standing. He sighted a light in Carbo- 
nate's place before he could distinguish the 
building. As he came up to the door he 
heard voices. Inside he beheld a young 
man whose face was familiar. He placed 
his age at nineteen or twenty, and was 
wondering where he had seen him before, 
when Old Carbonate called out: 

“Wonderin’ where in sin you might be. 
This is Bert, our new partner." 


HE boy resembled his sister. His 

face showed dissipation, and he did 
not appear to be overjoyed at meeting 
Clint. 

Carbonate explained— 

*He's been runnin' a bit wild; but his 
ma's been talkin' to him, and I reckon he's 
got a little sense in his head now." 

“That isn't fair, complained young 
Vail, as he shook hands with Clint. “This 
is a lively town, I like excitement. Folks 
exaggerated it to my people. What’s this 
treasure hunting business, anyway?” 

There was flippancy, if not surliness, in 
the question. Clint was quick to resent it. 
He replied curtly: 


"Its a very serious business. There's 
no play in it. If you throw in with us 
you'll play the game my way." 

“І don't care to dip in where I'm not 
wanted," Vail said haughtily. 

“You're not wanted unless you can play 
the game. Let rum alone. Buckle down 
and earn your share of anything we may 
find. Carbon and I will give you a fifth 
and split the rest between us." 

“How much will be my share?" coldly 
inquired Vail. 

Clint remembered the brown eyed 
ваа smothered his exasperation. He 
said: 

“That remains to be seen. It may bea 
wild goose chase.” 

“Never that,” Carbonate objected. 

But Clint offered no encouragement. 

“There was some gold hidden in a cer- 
tain place. I don’t know how much. Pos- 
sibly some one has found it. We're taking 
you in without asking you to supply any- 
thing except a horse." 

“Why?” sharply asked young Vail. 

“T don't know," was the frank reply. 
*Must be because you're a friend of Car- 
bonate's.“ 

Looks to me like some one was trying 
to get me away from Leadville,” mused 
Vail sullenly. 

I'm not," honestly assured Clint. “But 
from what I've seen of the town, it's a 
good place to keep clear of unless one has 
business here. Carbonate, can you round 
up three horses and two pack animals to- 
morrow morning? We’ll make out a list 
of supplies for Bert to buy. He'll pretend 
he's buying for his folks and will take them 
home. We can pull out by noon." 

“Where are we going?" asked Vail, now 
beginning to display interest. 

“T must talk with Carbonate about that, 
as he knows the country better than I do.” 

If he sensed that this answer was irrele- 
vant and intended to forestall further que- 
ries, young Vail did not show it. He re- 
marked casually— 

“Frodsham knows this country better 
than any man in Colorddo.” 

Carbonate stared at him in amazement. 

“The devil!” he exclaimed. “You didn't 
oughter have anything to say to that 
skunk.“ 

"You've got him wrong, Carbonate,” 
said young Vail earnestly. “Dead wrong. 
Folks try to cheat him, and can’t. Then 
they lie about him.” 


96 WESTERN ACTION 
“Good land, younker! You talk crazy. 
Every one knows he's a downright crook.” 
“Не always pleasant to me and I have 
no reason to criticize him," defended Vail. 
Clint liked him for this bit of loyalty, 
although marveling that he could be so 
blind to Frodsham's real character. 

Old Carbonate said shortly: 

“Well, well, Frodsham doesn’t matter 
to us outside of trying to steal all the real 
estate he can. I'll round up ridin’ and 
pack animals. Bert will buy the grub. 
He's goin' to sleep here so's he can be on 
the ‘ob, We'd better turn in soon." 

Vail stepped to the door and stood for 
a minute, listening to the sullen roar of 
Chestnut Street. The raucous voice of the 
town was calling and to him it sounded 
golden. He fought his fight, closed the 
door and prepared a couch of robes and 
blankets. 


ITH the morning sun, refreshed by 

a full night's rest, young Vail pre- 
sented a much more wholesome demeanor. 
His sullenness was gone, and he was boy- 
ishly keen for the great adventure. His 
resemblance to his sister was more strik- 
ing, and Clint found his first prejudices 
fading. Тһе breakfast was rather a jolly 
affair, and Clint was convinced that the 
youth was very much worth salvaging. 

Working with Carbonate, Clint soon 
made out a list and gave it, plus a roll of 
money, to young Vail. 

“Mum’s the word, you know,” he ad- 
monished. 

“No one will get anything out of me,” 
stoutly assured Vail. “Pll cart the stuff 
to the house and if I'm trailed, they'll 
think it’s for my folks. Carbonate can 
take the horses there. I think it would be 
better to pull out after dark." 

“By George! I really believe you have 
a head," said Clint. 

*Chip of the old block," spoke up Car- 
bonate, much pleased. “PI buy the nags 
and leave 'em till sundown and then take 
them to the Vails. You better stay here, 
Clint, while we're marketin’.” 

This was agreeable to Clint, as he be- 
lieved he was the man who would be 
trailed did he show himself on Chestnut 
Street. He composed himself to wait while 
the two were on their errands. But after 
they were gone, and he had finished read- 
ing the few copies of the Reveille, and once 
more had examined the Harpers Weekly's 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


pictures stuck on the walls, he began to 
wonder whether it would not be safe and 
sane to visit the trading center of Chest- 
nut Street and look in the dry goods store 
where Blanche Vail worked. He decided 
he needed handkerchiefs. 

Meanwhile, young Vail, elevated in tone 
by the knowledge he was doing something 
that would please his folks, went his way 
to the different provision stores and made 
fomes of bacon, beans, coffee and the 

ike. After finishing. his purchases he stood 
outside a store and checked off the differ- 
ent items. 

"How's tricks this morning, my boy?" 

He jerked up his head and smiled sheep- 
ishly. It was Frodsham. The man had a 
resonant, mellow voice. Vail knew many 
people were prejudiced against Frodsham, 
but the real estate dealer always had been 
cordial and genial to him. More than once 
when some ruffian was inclined to be abu- 
sive, a voice from the bystanders would 
caution Kid's a friend of Frodsham.” 

Encompassed by this benevolent protec- 
tion, he had found his greatest thrills in 
entering various resorts, where desperate 
men congregated, to test the power of 
Frodsham's name. Youth admires power, 
and Frodsham surely possessed it. As to 
his real estate projects, it was obvious that 
a big trader would be censured by the los- 
ег in a deal Yet the courts always had 
absolved him when brought in on the 
charge of crooked practises. Young Vail 
did not realize that this exoneration was 
invariably due to perjured testimony. 

“Just attending to a little business,” he 
explained to the speculator. 

A glance had told Frodsham the nature 
of the paper before he accosted the young 
man. 

“Соте into the Keno and have a beer,” 
he invited. 

"I can't Been drinking too much." 
The confession came hard, but was made 
the easier by Frodsham's hearty approval. 

“That’s the right idea. Stick to it. I 
tell lots of the boys they are drinking their 
heads off, but they won't listen. I’ve won- 
dered sometimes if you weren't overdoing 
it. Of course it's none of my business, 
but I hate to see a promising young man 
slip back. But come into a restaurant 
and eat. If you've eaten, come in and 
talk while I eat." 

Vail readily agreed to this and soon 
found himself at a corner table in The 


, 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE 


Wide West. Frodsham gave the order, 
and then bluntly told his companion: 

“You ought to have a ste job. I 
believe I can place you in the of the 
Pittsburg, or the Robert E. Lee. What 
say to trying it out after I’ve eaten?” 

Vail was confused as to just what reply 
he should make. 

"Pm much obliged, but I have some- 
thing else to attend to first.” 

“So?” Frodsham's bushy brows went 
up, and he waited. Fidgeting a bit, Vail 
was constrained to give some explanation. 
He said— 

^Y expect to be away from town for a 
while.” 

“Not a long journey, I trust. We shall 
miss you.” 

“Well—really I don't know. Sort of 
indefinite. Depends on certain things.” 

Frodsham nodded as if he understood 
fully, and shifted the subject by saying: 

Im misunderstood and much abused 
in this town, Bert. I’ve never knowingly 
wronged any man. But every crook who's 
tried to cheat me in a real estate deal goes 
aroend and bleats how I tried to do him. 
I’m fair sick of it all. Im hungry for а 
decent place where I can drop in and for- 
get it for a bit, Га like to meet your 
folks.“ 

“TH have you up to meet the folks just 
as soon as I get back." 


RODSHAM beamed on him, chuckled 
and said: 

“Now don’t get mad, but I’ve seen a 
young woman in this town who's a dead 
ringer for you. Now, now, you're not to 
get mad.” 

Vail laughed heartily, highly amused. 

“Опе young lady in town should resem- 
ble me. PFH bet it’s my sister Blanche, 
you've seen. Works in a dry goods store. 
She’s older than I, but sometimes folks 
think we’re twins.” 

“There! Doesn't that beat the Dutch! 
I remember now it was in a store I saw 
her. Bert, you never will understand how 
lonely a man can be, even in a crowd, until 
you find yourself without any folks. I 
have money enough. I don't need nor 
want any more. But what is there for 
me to do? Gamble and drink myself to 
death? Faugh! I'm fair sick of the whole 
business. Do you know it’s nearly a year 
since I’ve known the luxury of visiting in a 
real home? And if there’s any more lone- 


97 


some spot than a hotel, then T don't want 
tosee it. If I could drop my business and 
strike off into the mountains I'd be as hap- 
py as a kid. I envy you—young, with 
the world before you. Full of vim and 
vigor, and free to range where you will. 
That reminds me; if you're going where 
you may need a gun I want to make you a 
present of a beauty." 

“Pm grateful for the offer, Mr. Frod- 
sham, but I think we have a full supply of 
guns. As to calling at the house I'll take 
you there as soon as we get back." 

“Fine. Hope you have a bully trip and 
find a very rich mine." 

"Well, it isn't exactly a mine we're 
after. In fact, I don't just know what it 
wil turn out to be. I'm going it sort of 
blind. I wish I could explain more, but it 
isn't my secret." 

"That's right. Never spill another 
man's talk. Even the poorest of us can 
have the reputation of keeping our mouths 
closed. І only hope you're going in safe 
company." 

“Oh, both of them are all right,” assured 
Vail. Now I think I'll be trotting along. 
As soon as I return, remember, you shall 
meet the folks.“ 

*And the lady who looks enough like 
you to be your twin," laughingly added 
Frodsham. · 

*Certainly. Blanche is always at home 
nights.” They shook hands and young 
Vail returned to the street. 


LINT, owner of several dozen new 
handkerchiefs, returned to the cabin 
and seated himself out front and pondered. 
His meeting with Blanche Vail had been 
all that a normal man could wish. It was 
always rush hour in the store, but he had 
exchanged quite a few words with her. He 
had received her hurried appreciation of 
his taking her brother from town, and her 
warm invitation to call at the house when 
he returned. The interview should have 
elated him and sent him forth with a sing- 
ing heart. Yet he brooded, staring at the 
ground. 

Old Carbonate approached within a 
dozen feet of him before he jerked up his 
head and mechanically dropped a hand to 
his hip. The old man reported: 

“Nags bought and paid for. I’m to call 
for 'em at sundown at Pressly's, and take 
'em to Vail’s house. Any one been here 
since I was gone?” 


98 WESTERN ACTION 

“I don't know. I slipped downtown and 
bought a few things I needed. Listen, Car- 
bonate, I believe we must be very sly in 
slipping away from Leadville. I saw Bert 
in a restaurant, talking with Frodsham. 
That creok wouldn't have much trouble in 
pumping the kid." 

Old Carbonate sat down on the ground, 
fanned his face and stared helplessly. 

“That boy wouldn't ever cold deck us," 
he insisted hoarsely. He's been a young 
fool, wild and willful. But he couldn't be 
a Vail and be a snake." 

“T never thought anything like that. 
But he believes this Frodsham is a much 
abused man. You remember his talk last 
night? Today Frodsham has him at the 
table. He wasn't eating, but just keeping 
Frodsham company. He would have to 
give some explanation for being in town 
so early. He wouldn't need to tell more 
than a word or two for that rascal to know 
something was up." 

*Prob'ly never said a word that would 
give us away," said Carbonate. 

*Possibly not. He wouldn't do it on 
purpose. But I can't take even the shadow 
of a chance. We must change our plans. 
You and the boy leave tonight over the 
stage road. Keep to the brush till beyond 
the end of Chestnut Street before taking 
the road. Ten miles down the road cross 
the ridge. That will fetch you close to 
Twin Lakes.. Make your camp on the 
west side of the Arkansas. I'll cross over 
the ridge up here and go down the valley, 
and find you between the river. and the 
lakes. Tell the boy nothing, except I'm 
held back a bit by some business." 

The old man remained silent for a few 
moments, and then complained— 

“But if we're watched we'll be dogged 
from the time we start." 

«Ри be the red herring drawn across the 
trail,” explained Clint. This evening I'll 
be on the street, visiting different places. 
That'll give you time to clear out." 

“What good will it do us if you're pot- 
ted from behind? І heard talk about you 
punching somebody last night. That 
crowd is out to take your hair." 

Clint shook his head. 

“Frodsham will pass word I'm very 
precious and mustn't be annoyed. That 
is, if he got anything out of the kid. But 
if any one picks a fuss with me I'll know 
the gang suspects nothing. I'll beat a re- 
treat and ride after you." 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


“If he had Bert in the restaurant, just 
for company, he probly pumped him a 
trifle. But Bert never would give us away 
а-ригроѕе.” 

"I'm convinced of that. But that's how 
the game lays. I caa tell after entering 
the first gambling hell if it's hands off, or 
if they are out to get me. If they're оп а 
scalp path I'll prove to them they want 
попе of my gunplay. If they're hostile 
ПІ bust loose and chase after you down 
the stage road tonight. If they don’t no- 
tice me I'll know they're ready to follow 
me, and I'll cross up here and lose them, 
and then ride down the valley and pick 
you up. Here comes the kid, He mustn't 
suspect anything." 

Young Vail was in high spirits. He had 
left a mother, who rejoiced because he was 
leaving the temptations of Leadville be- 
hind him. Не had called at the mine and 
had said goodby to his father. It was 
much to read the pleasure in his father's 
face. He would go to the store and see his 
sister when she would be taking time off 
to eat her lunch at the back of the store. 
He was finding it to be very pleasant, this 
rehabilitation as à son and brother. And 
there was the urge, which fires the blood 
of every healthy mortal, the quest for hid- 
den treasure. The final plans for a secret 
дерагіше were made while Vail was call- 
ing on his sister. Clint roughly sketched 
the two routes to be taken, one down the 
stage road, and one west of the ridge and 
down the narrow valley of the Upper Ar- 
kansas. Old Carbonate, familiar with 
every foot of the country, said: 

“ГИ leave your hoss at Pressly’s stable, 
lower end of Chestnut Street. You can 
pound after us if you find it safe. If you 
see you're to be followed, cut across Chest- 
nut and into the sage and make towards 
Vail’s place before crossing the ridge. If 
they chase you, it’s up to you to fool ’em 
and throw 'em off the trail.“ 


OR the remainder of the afternoon. 

Clint played solitaire and his friend 
slept. Young Vail’s delay in returning 
worried Clint tremendously. When the 
young man came in he looked rather sober, 
He explained: 

*Went back to see mother again. If I 
get any money out of this I'll buy land far 
out. Father says this town will spread all 
over creation." 

“Right, son. You can't lose if you do 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE 99 


that. TI throw in with you. We can 
pick up lots at twenty-five dollars apiece. 
Saw your sister, of course? Found the 
town humming, as usual? Carbonate’s 
waking up. We'll have time for supper 
before we pull out. You'll have a chance 
to say goodby to your folks once more." 

Carbonate came to his feet and glanced 
at the sun, sliced in half by the western 
ridge. It was darkening rapidly when 
they sat down to eat, The stars were so 
many planets in brilliancy when Clint said 
casually: 

“You two go ahead and be packing. I 
have an errand to do in town. Pull out as 
soon as you can. I'll overtake you.” 

The old man followed him to the door 
and whispered— 

“No pickin’ fights." 

“Nary a one,” assured Clint. 
man of peace this night.” 

He took a course through the sage that 
permitted him to emerge on the noisy 
thoroughfare close to the saloon where he 
had had his fight with Bill Cain. When 
he entered the big room he saw the fa- 
miliar red shirt at the bar. Knifer was 
quick to discover him, and nudged Cain 
and whispered something. Cain started 
as if to wheel about, but checked himself. 
On Cain's right. was a slim, dapper man, 
who looked to be more of the East than 
the West. The figure and the fine clothes 
were familiar. Clint shifted his position 
until he could see his profile, and recog- 
nized him as Jasper Jim of Taos, a dandy 
in dress, and a gambler and killer by in- 
stinet. 

He was being ignored; a bad sign. He 
walked to the bar and ordered a beer. He 
drank slowly and watched the room in the 
mirror. He saw Frodsham enter, walking 
with short, quick steps, his eyes searching 
for some one. On beholding the red shirt 
he advanced to Knifer and said something 
over his shoulder. Without turning his 
head Knifer made some reply. Clint knew 
Frodsham had been told of his presence 
and that the announcement was a surprise. 
Frodsham walked to the card room, fol- 
lowed by the three men, 

Clint was satisfied that the chase was 
on. He lighted a cigar and took to the 
street. Turning up his coat collar and 
pulling his hat low over his eyes, he 
watched through a window. His depar- 
ture seemed to be a signal for the four men 
to emerge from the back room. Frodsham 


«Рт а 


spoke to a huge fellow at the lower end of 
the bar, who bolted his drink and trailed 
after the four. Two feet from the doer 
Frodsham halted and talked rapidly, and 
then turned back. Clint darted between 
the buildings and crouched low in the dark- 
ness. He caught a glimpse of Knifer’s red 
shirt as the four men turned up the street. 

He took the street and quickly lost him- 
self in the crowd. He was the one for 
whom the four men were searching. If the 
boy unwittingly had betrayed the secret, 
Frodsham would know who was the key 
man in the enterprise. It was slow work 
making headway. Squads of miners were 
crossing and recrossing the street, moving 
in solid wedges as a matter of self-defense 
against thugs and thieves. 

At last the crowd began to thin out. 
He was on the outskirts of the town. He 
found Pressly’s stable. His horse was sad- 
dled and waiting. He mounted and gal- 
loped into the sage, taking a path that 
would lead him back toward the Vailhouse, 
but not to it. Halfway along the path he 
swung to the left and into a trail that led 
across the ten thousand foot ridge. 


- CHAPTER IV 
THE BLANCHE 


HE three searchers paused before the 
barrier at the rear of the small cave. 

Fragments of rocks and the remnants 
of a blanket filled the mouth of a second 
recess, Old Carbonate called a halt, al- 
though his eyes glistened with impatience 
and expectancy. 

“T feel like some one was watching us," 
he whispered. 

He retreated to the mouth of the cave 
and found the narrow trail clear of all life. 
La Plata Peak towered some fourteen 
thousand feet above him, a terrific monu- 
ment to mark the crimes of thieves and 
murderers. The buttresses of the moun- 
tain were far flung and almost reached the 
two silver buttons known as Twin Lakes. 
To the east was the silver ribbon of the 
Upper Arkansas, rich in trapper lore long 
before the precious metals were dreamed of 
in this thousand mile wide backbone of the 
continent. 

Picking away at the rubble, young Vail 
said— 

“Clint, you fetched us here as if you’d 
made the journey many times.” 

“A dying man told me the route and 


100 WESTERN ACTION 


gave me a rough map. The small piles of 
stones along the way have not been dis- 
turbed. AWe only had to follow them until 
they ended, and then retrace our way by 
six of them, the seventh marking the open- 
ing of this shallow cave— Do you see any- 
thing, Carbonate?” 

*Sun hit something that glittered." 

“А bare rock, or a patch of mica." 

*Prob'ly." The old man turned back 
o asked, “Why don't we be forward with 
£e 

*Perhaps we'd better bring up the pack 
animals first, said Clint. We must be 
ready to pull out sharp once we’ve found 
it,” : 

“What if there isn’t anything in there?” 
asked Vail, and there was a shiver in his 
low voice. 

I'm gambling there is,” said Clint. 
“What say to fetching up the burros, Car- 
bonate?” 

“Пі go after them, Just saw that 
glitterin' again." 

*Some naked ledge. Stay and watch us 
open this hole and then go for them." 

“No. Га rather fetch the burros and 
then see what we've found. Just like a boy 
Christmas mornin', honin' to peek into the 
stockin’, but puttin’ it off for a bit.“ 

*Mayn't be anything there," muttered 
Vail. 

“Hi, younker. We're sure of our medi- 
cine. Why make it mad by seemin' to 
doubt it? I'm off.” 

*Superstitious as an old mountain man," 
said Clint, after Carbonate had torn him- 
self away from the tantalizing spot to 
hurry down the trail. Well, here goes the 
last door to our treasure house.” 

He pawed the rubbish behind him and 
Vail threw it out on the ledge. 

We've arrived,” whispered Clint softly. 
“Hand me a candle and a match.” 

Vail did as requested, then stood behind 
him and laughed nervously. He asked— 

“What do you see?” 

Clint made inarticulate noises in his 
throat and tossed a human skull back of 
him. Young Vail gave ground, his eyes 
blinking rapidly. 

Here's another. Don’t get nervous. 
Seems to be several of them," mumbled 
Clint, 

Holding the candle in one hand, he 
threw back of him seven skulls in all. Then 
he slowly walked out into the sunlight 
and stared bleakly at his companion, 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


“What’s the matter?” 
whispered. 

“We've been sold,” bitterly announced 
Clint. There's nothing in there. Just a 
pocket of skulls. What crazy fancy caused 
any one to do that? Why should a dying 
man, whom I'd tried to help, play me such 
a trick? Take the candle and look for 
yourself." 

Vail did as he was bid. The pocket in 
the rock was scarcely larger than a bushel 
basket. It was bare of any treasure. 
Emerging, he blew out the candle and 
laughed hysterically. 

*How can we divide them?" he asked, 
still the victim of nervous humor. ‘There 
are seven, and I was to have a fifth.” 

“It’s amazing," muttered Clint, staring 
in disgust at the grinning remnants of mor- 
tality. “I don't understand it." 

He picked up a skull and shook loose 
dirt from it. He became argumentative, 
as if endeavoring to establish a case. 

“There was the wounded man 1 packed 
into Taos after villains had left him to die. 
I found a doctor of sorts and stayed with 
him. The man knew he must cash in. 
He seemed to be grateful for what I had 
done. He told me the yarn about trea- 
sure, described the place and gave me his 
rough map. Why should a dying man turn 
humorist and play me such a trick?” 

Young Vail was much impressed. 

“Не wouldn't ever do it!” he said. 
“Give me that candle. I’m going to search 
more closely.” 


The query was 


TH the candle lighted, he picked 

up a long knife and returned to the 
small pocket and began stabbing the sides 
and bottom. Finally he returned to the 
mouth of the cave and threw down the 
knife. 3 

*He probably told the truth, Clint, but 
some one got ahead of us. I-dug down 
into the dirt until I struck ledge. I be- 
lieve the man was honest. We're just un- 
lucky, that's all. And, Clint, I'm just as 
much obliged for being taken into the part- 
nership as if we had found a million." 

“I believe you, Bert," said Clint dully. 
*Tf I have to think that fellow was fooling 
me, then I'll lose faith in human nature. 
He wasn't much good as a man. He was 
a pretty bad character and went with his 
kind. One of them did for him. For steal- 
ing and hiding the loot, probably. But І 
did my best to save him without any 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE 


thought of pay— І hear the burros. Hope 
Carbonate won’t take it hard.” 

“Why should he? Не hasn't lost any- 
thing. You paid all expenses, and you 
didn’t have te take us in.” 

“Т owed Carbonate a good turn." 

“You didn’t owe me anything.” 

“I think I did. I think it would have 
been wrong to have passed you by when 
I had a chance to take you out of your 
rotten way of living and, perhaps, keep 
you from spoiling the lives of your parents 
—and sister. But that's all past. The 
sure thing hasn't panned out. Borrasca 
instead of bonanza. Now we'l get back 
to town." 

“What’ll you do back in town?” 

: "Same's I've always done. Make а liv- 
ing. 

Vail said nothing. 

The skulls grinned derisively. Clint 
seemed to feel he was due to speak 
more to the point, inasmuch as he had 
posed as something of а moralist. He ex- 
plained: 

“I don't intend to spend my life at the 
tables. Т find some real work." 

“Well,” said Vail philosophically, “Га 
say we'd just started. Here we are with 
a good outfit, beans, bacon and other fix- 
ings. Why not go hunting for a mine?” 

Before Clint could answer, Old Carbon- 
ate and the two burros came around a 
granite elbow in the trai. In а raucous 
voice he cried— 

“Fetch on your gold!” 

As an echo a deeper voice up the slope 
loudly bawled— 

“Stick 'em up!” 

The three stared in amazement at the 
barrel of a rifle slithering over the top of 
a boulder. 

Put em up!” bellowed another voice 
at the bend in the trail; and behind Car- 
bonate appeared another grim visage cud- 
dled against the butt of a rifle, 

“Stand just as you are! warned а man 
down the slope and in line with the mouth 
of the cave. Mechanically the three part- 
ners put up their hands. 

«АП right, Jim. Go in and clean em,“ 
called the man above the cave. 

Jasper Jim of Taos, immaculate after 
the fashion of the Border dandy, came 
around the bend, a drawn gun in his left 
hand, his narrow gray eyes as feral as 
those of a cornered rattlesnake. He halt- 
ed by the burros and ordered: 


101 


“This way, old man. Step lively. My 
trigger finger’s itching.” 


ITH a grean Old Carbonate walked 
; toward the killer. Jasper Jim was 
an adept at disarming one caught at a dis- 
advantage. Quickly finishing with Carbo- 
nate, he direeted: 

“Go to the mouth of that cave and 
squat. You, Clint, come along. We've 
met before. I know all about you and 
your treasure hunting." 

Clint grinned sardonically. After all an 
empty treasure hole had its compensa- 
tions. He advanced promptly and was re- 
lieved of his gun. 

“Find it funny, huh?" murmured Jas- 
per Jim, his eyes slowly widening. “As I'm 
sure you'n your friends won't ever tell, ГІ 
let you into a little secret. The scut you 
tried to doctor in Taos died along of my 
lead after refusing to tell about this little 
secret hiding place. You sabe? See the 
joke? I've trailed you ever since, waiting 
for you to lead me to it. Go back and 
squat beside the old man,” 

“How far are you going to carry this 
thing?” demanded Clint, 

“Git back there and squat! How far 
did I carry it in Taos with t'other chap? 
Here, boy, Your turn. Come along." 

The youth was quickly disarmed and 
took his place beside his friends. He 
feared the catastrophe had addled Old 
Carbonate's mind, for the latter was con- 
templating the grinning skulls and chuck- 
ling. Bill Cain, Knifer and Big Brace 
came from their stations and stood with 
Jasper Jim. 

“What’s all these deathheads mean?" 
savagely demanded Brace. 

“It’s the treasure we came after. Now 
you folks have them,” said Clint. 

“You sneaking liar!” growled Jasper 
jim. Get into that hole, Knifer, and toss 
out the loot." 

“Happy days, Knifer,” 

Clint. Н 

*Happy graves when we git round to it,” 
the rufian replied. 


“Old man’s gone plumb crazy,” Big 
Brace told Jasper Jim. 

Carbonate’s friends feared this, for he 
was now laughing until tears streamed 
from his ancient eyes. 

Clint whispered to young Vail; 

“Say nothing. Г) do the talking. Just 
one slim chance to euchre this bunch,” 


encouraged 


102 WESTERN ACTION 

“Clint, you keep that mouth of yours 
shut, or I'll bore you," warned Jasper Jim. 

A loud howl from the cave startled out- 
laws and prisoners. Knifer came out on 
all fours, like a gigantic monkey, his eyes 
wild and his mouth agape. 

*What's the matter. with the fool?” 
cried Jasper Jim. 

“There ain't nothin’ in there!" yelled 
Knifer. 
`~ The four outlaws roared oaths and 
threats. Clint smiled and winked at Vail. 
Old Carbonate ceased his laughter and 
glanced curiously at Clint. Jasper Jim ad- 
vanced, walking on tiptoe, his long gun 
thrust forward. 


E rested the muzzle of the weapon 
between Clint’s eyes and barked: 
: “Out with it! Where did you hide it? 
Speak, or I'll shoot.” 

*Shoot and be damned, and then try to 
find it." 

*Huhl 
to talk." 

*You harm any one of us and the se- 
cret’s gone forever," stoutly warned Clint. 

«Cain, take that candle an' light it and 
go in there and see what you can find," 
ordered Jasper Jim. 

Cain did as bid, and inside of two min- 
utes was back to report— 

*Clean's a hound's tooth." 

Jasper squatted on his heels and glanced 
at the skulls. With his left hand he ex- 
amined them, as if expecting to see double 
eagles rattle out. He told his companions: 

“This is the place. The gold was hid- 
den here and the skulls were left to scare 
away any prowling Injuns. There was be- 
tween seventy-five and a hundred thousand 
dollars, most of it in hard money and the 
rest in nuggets. The Espinosas didn’t care 
for gold, just wanted to kill. We, who 
trailed after and with them, did care for it. 
We're going to get that stuff if we have to 
burn these fellows by inches.” 

“Then start and end with me,” said 
Clint. “The youngster doesn’t know 
where it is as І moved it while he was up 
the slope pacing off a line that would cross 
the mouth of this cave at right angles. 
“Carbonate was down the trail after the 
burros.“ 

“Оріпр to cheat em, huh?” snarled Jas- 
“per Jim, still skeptical. 

No. Going to hide the gold against 
‘your coming. The sunlight shone on the 


Maybe the kid'll be more free 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


barrels of your guns and gave you away.” 

Old Carbonate started convulsively. 
ee the other three men, Clint 
said: 

“You other fellows will spoil your own 
breakfast if you let this imitation man 
killer from Taos kick over the kettle. This 
is something to be talked about without 
any threats, or shooting. If we can make 
a bargain, sure proof, we’ll swap the gold.” 

“Tell us now and take your hosses an’ 
skedaddle,” cried Knifer. 

Clint laughed in genuine amusement. 
Old Carbonate, still staring at the skulls, 
resumed his laughter. Young Vail’s eyes 
distended. Clint had neyer sent him up 
the slope. Then he got his cut and be- 
came blank of face. 

Bill Cain suggested— 

If they'll make a bargain we'll meet 
'em more’n halfway, Jasper." 


FY HE Taos man nodded sullenly, al- 
1 though the glint in his hooded eyes 
gave the lie to his sincerity. He slowly 
replied: 

“We'll bargain, maybe. But we'll do a 
little looking around first. By his own 
tell, if he ain’t lying, he hasn’t had time to 
wander fat. There was nigh to four hun- 
dred pounds of gold to be hid. He didn’t 
carry that far. You three feflers lie down. 
Cain, Knifer and Brace, tie em up. III 
belt the man who makes any fight over 
the head with my gun." 

He took a position behind the prisoners, 
his heavy gun raised for a blow, while his 
companions quickly tied the trio's ankles 
and then secured their hands behind their 
backs. 

*Now drag them into the cave," ordered 
Jasper Jim. 

After their captors withdrew the prison- 
ers could hear the men scrambling about 
among the boulders. Old Carbonate 
groaned, then, peculiarly enough, began his 
snickering laugh. 

“Don’t!” hoarsely begged Clint. “Keep 
your head.” 

“Оһ, Lawdy! ІСІ be the death of me 
if I hold in much longer,” whispered Car- 
bonate. 

*What's the matter with you?” fiercely 
asked Vail. 

“Oh, never mind! Just my ways.” 

“Carbonate,” whispered Clint. “We 
found nothing. I’ve been running a bluff 
on them.” 


rd 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE 


For a few moments the old man was 
quiet, and then he broke out afresh. 

“I don't care. It's funny anyway I look 
at it. What you tryin’ to do, Clint?” 

“То work loose from these cursed 
ropes,” panted Clint. Some brush wad- 
die must have tied them.” 

But neither of the three could make any 
impression on the bonds. Suddenly young 
Vail commenced pushing himself over the 
rough floor, much like an inch-worm. 

“What are you up to, younker?” whis- 
pered Carbonate. 

"Can't talk, Just an off chance,” pant- 
ed the youth. “I see a knife!" 

No one of them wondered how the knife 
got there—half buried in the earth. They 
accepted the fact, gladly, without ques- 
tion. 

With a tremendous effort Vail sent his 
head over the rim of the hole and rolled 
over on his face. He swept his head back 
and forth, gradually working forward until 
his lips touched the loose dirt; and soon 
he had the handle of the knife between 
his teeth. The return was even more ardu- 
ous. Gripping the knife, he turned on his 
back and reversed his-style of locomotion 
by hitching along with his shoulders. 

With a final effort Vail dropped the 
knife beside Clint and huskily whispered: 

“The knife. Turn your back to me. Get 
а grip on it. III back up so you can get 
at my hands.” 

Clint, lying on his side, soon had the 
haft of the knife half wedged, half gripped 
by his fingers. He could not do much 
more. Vail pressed back until the point 
of the blade was under his cords. He di- 
rected Clint to work the knife back and 
forth. He felt the blade bite, but he also 
felt the rope giving. 

„Stop!“ he whispered. 

His free hands snatched the knife and 
severed Clint’s bonds. Old Carbonate was 
as quickly released. The latter drew a 
deep breath and asked: 

“What next? Make a rush down the 
slope?" 

“Tie down as you were. Put the ropes 
over your legs. Your hands out of sight. 
TIl keep the knife. If more than one man 
comes to us the game may be up.” 

“Anyway it's heartenin’ to hear them a- 
workin’ and a-cussin’,” whispered Carbon- 
ate, 

Just then the searchers began an ex- 
change of angry talk. Knifer insisted on 


108 


immediate torture. Bill Cain wished to 
be master of ceremonies. Jasper Jim said: 

Just remember I’m boss of this outfit. 
That’s what I was called in for. The big 
chief knows I have brains. Knifer, go and 
drag Clint out here.” 


FW HE three men on the cave floor stif- 
ЁЁ. fened in expectancy. 

“He mustn't cry out,” whispered Clint. 

Knifer, his eyes blurred by the sunlight, 
entered the cave and dropped on his knees 
between Clint and young Vail. 

*Which of you is Mr. Clint?" Knifer 
asked as his hands groped in the semi- 
darkness. 

*Right under your 
What's the next card?" 
“You're goin’ out into th’ sunshine." 

“Good. Stand me on my feet and cut 
the ropes.” 

“No time for such perliteness. Orders 
is to drag you out, an’ draggin’ is what 
I'm goin’ to do.” 

He bent down, and instantly a hand was 
clutching his throat and the point of the 
knife was pricking his neck. Old Carbon- 
ate stripped the belt of gun and knife. The 
prisoner was quickly tied. Clint, in a whis- 
per, said: 

“Ask for Brace to come in here. If the 
trick's discovered you'll be the first to go 
over the ridge." 

Knifer called out: 

“Brace, lend a hand for a jiffy. 
carry this cuss out.” 

“Drag him out,” yelled Jasper Jim. 

But Brace, nearest the cave, came to 
the opening and complained: 

“Can’t see nothing. Where be you?” 

A prick of the knife gave Knifer his cue. 

“Here,” he answered huskily. 

“Don’t step on me, you big calf,” 
warned Clint. 

«РП smash your damn’ face," growled 
Brace, as he felt his way to the group. 
“Jasper said to drag him out. Draggin's 
too good—" 

'The barrel of the big gun struck his 
head and he collapsed. His weapons were 
removed and he was bound and placed be- 
side Knifer. Clint, now armed witli the 
two captured guns, told his companions: 

“This is my fight. I’m going out. Stick 
here." 

*What the devil you two fools waiting 
for?” cried out Jasper Jim. Where's 
Clint?” 


hands, Knifer. 


Got to 


# 


104 


“Coming!” 

And Clint jumped from the cave, a gun 
in each hand. 

Bill Cain was petrified with amazement 
for a second, but Jasper Jim reacted in- 
stantly. His gun leaped from its holster 
and boomed heavily, the bullet hitting a 
ledge and recocheting with a scream. Clint 
fired an instant later, and Jasper Jim was 
finished with treasure hunting. With a 
slightly puzzled expression on his thin face, 
he swayed for a moment and then fell on 
his face. 

Bill Cain yelled and commenced shoot- 
ing, bis first bullet catching Clint in the 
shoulder and turning him half around. A 
shot from Clint’s right hand gun dropped 
him beside Jasper Jim, But the battle 
was not yet won. From the cave rolled 
the form of Old Carbonate, quickly fol- 
lowed by the bounding figure of young 
Vail. Then Big Brace, the cause of this 
eruption, burst into view, a huge rock in 
one hand and a captured knife in the 
other. Clint had left him securely tied, he 
had believed, and now the man was at- 
tacking. The rock caught Clint in the 
side and crumpled him to the ground. 
With the yell of a madman Brace leaped 
forward to finish him with the knife, and 
was neatly shot off his feet. Vail and 
Carbonate came running forward, the for- 
mer crying: 

“You're killed? Badly hurt?” 

“Broken shoulder. Some ribs busted. 
Find these men’s horses and load them on. 
We'll take them down to the stage road. 
Then fetch out Knifer.” 

The two ran to round up the horses, 
somewhere down the trail. Clint made a 
sling for his left arm and was pressing a 
hand over the stabbing pain in his side 
when Knifer darted from the cave and 
turned at right angles to scramble up 
among the rocks. 

Clint yelled after his mates: 

“Knifer’s loose, making for a rifle. Keep 
under cover!” 


LINT endeavored to get a shot at the 
man, but the boulders were too shel- 
tering. Snatching up Cain’s gun, he shift- 
ed his position and watched for the des- 
perado to show himself. He saw the rifle 
barrel as the sun picked it out and touched 
it with silver. Under cover of the ledge 
he crawled past the cave, and again re- 
connoitered the slope. Knifer fired, but 


WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


at something down the trail, on the other 
side of the elbow of rock. Clint heard 
Old Carbonate shriek a warning to young 
Vail. He so feared for the youngster's 
safety that he betrayed his own position. 
Knifer jumped to the top of a boulder and 
brought the rifle to his shoulder. He fired 
hastily and missed by an inch. Clint fired 
rapidly, emptying one gun. Knifer swayed 
and stubbornly essayed to cock his piece, 
and concluded by diving headforemost 
from the rock. 

Old Carbonate and young Vail came 
panting around the jutting rock. Clint 
grinned and said: 

“Never mind toting them to the stage 
road. Bury them in the cave, Game’s 
ended.” 

“Not in the cavel" remonstrated Old 
Carbonate. Down the slope somewheres. 
Be you badly hurt? Let me look you 
over.“ 

Same old busted shoulder. Same old 
busted ribs. That's all.“ 

And for the first time in his life Clint 
fainted. - 

The return to Leadville was all a bad 
dream to Clint. He ached and burned. 
He heard the roar of Chestnut Street as 
his friends hurried him along, parallel to 
it. He believed he was being taken to 
Carbonate’s shack until he heard a fa- 
miliar voice saying: 

“What a shame! What a pity! Ves, 
yes, fetch him in. Put him to bed. But 
only the Lord knows what Minnie’ll say 
when she finds we have a extra mouth to 
feed.” 

Clint was conscious of some confusion, 
of a long Prince Albert coat being rapidly 
rotated, then Mrs. Vail was mothering him, 
and the girl was reaching across the bed 
to hold his hand. 

They kept him in bed three days, and 
then he insisted on getting up. It was 
evening when he dressed and stepped into 
the living room. Mrs. Vail noted his 
searching gaze, and explained: 

*Blanche is in the front room. 
want you to come in." 

He passed into the front room and 
found the girl standing, her hand on the 
hall door. Seated in a corner was Frod- 
sham. 

I'm inviting him to go,” said the girl. 

*I came here to find out why this man 
took your brother on a wild goose chase, 
said Frodsham. 


She'll 


GUNS ROAR OVER LEADVILLE 


“Not a wild goose chase entirely. We 
found four of your friends up the slope, 
and they are sleeping there now. Take 
your hat and go." 

“You'll pay!” warned Frodsham. 

“Father says he’s jumped your claim,” 
broke in the girl. 

“He did it for practise. His men won’t 
be there when I call in the morning. If 
they are I shall call on him.” 

Frodsham quickly took his departure. 
Alone with the girl, Clint felt very awk- 
ward. He began by accusing himself, say- 
ing: 

"Im sorry it didn’t pan out better. 
Sorry for Bert. But he behaved splendid- 
ly. If we hadn't been jumped we'd kept 
on prospecting until we found something. 
After my shoulder's all right“ 

*You call your trip a failure?" she in- 
quired. ` 

“If we leave out the passing of four 
scoundrels, yes, Miss Blanche.” 

She laughed and laughed. He stared at 
her in bewilderment. Then she managed 
to explain— 


HUGH PENDEXTER 


| Writes a stirring 75,000 word NOVEL 
of the early days of the Wildest West 


“The Flaming Frontier? 
in the January isue of REAL WESTERN 


HE FLAMING FRONTIER is an exciting story of the rip-roaring days when 
the new Union Pacific Railroad was approaching Cheyenne, a mushroom 
growth that was quickly transformed into the wildest of the frontier towns. 


108 


Didn't you know my brother is fifth 
owner in a very rich mine?" 

He shook his head dumbly. 

"Old Carbonate found pay dirt in that 
horrible cave. Heavy with silver carbon- 
ate. I intended to wait and let him tell 
you. Seems he noticed the dirt that was 
dug up by a knife while you were being 
made prisoners. Said he nearly gave it 
away by laughing. Some Eastern men are 
waiting for you to get well and go up 
there. They’ve almost offered quarter of 
a million just on the samples Carbonate 
brought home.“ 

Clint heard this in amazement. When 
his wits had cleared he bowed his head 
and said: 

“A million is my price. We'll stick to 
it. I'll name it after my wife.” 

“Oh! Your wife.” 

“My wife to be, I hope. I'll call it ‘The 
Blanche.’ You approve?” 

“T approve of everything you will do in 
the future," she hurriedly replied. ^You— 
you scared me when you spoke of—your 
wife.” 


At- 


tracted by the building of the railroad, thousands of adventurers poured into the 
railway towns; and following the pay-car came the usual crowd of desperadoes, 
gamblers, saloon-keepers and dance-hall girls. Humanity in the raw! What a 
setting for a story! Mr. Pendexter exploits his material to the full and has writ- 
ten a splendid story around those pioneers who faced so courageously their titanic 
task of binding a continent with iron. 


Also—A short novel by 

Henry Herbert Knibbs 
And other features. On sale Nov. 15th 
Remember—There’s always more for your money in a 


DOUBLE ACTION MAGAZINE 


TURN THEM SHEEP 


LOOSE! 


By Frank C. 
Robertson 


IG George Jarvis stood in the door- 
way of his camp-wagon and gazed 
with disfayor at the approaching 


B 


horseman. Just below the camp his herd 
of Cotswold-Rambouillet cross were 
spread out to graze over half a dozen 
small ridges like a white lace curtain flung 
over a patch of berry bushes. 

The herder, Axel Hansen, lay snoozing 
in the shade of a sarvis bush, and 
wouldn’t see the intruder who seemed bent 
upon riding straight through the herd on 
his way to the camp. 

Jarvis frowned. If there was one thing 
he disliked it was to have his herd dis- 
turbed when they were feeding. It was 
his chief source of pride that every fall 


TS AN OLD STORY, THIS WAR BE- 
TWEEN THE CATTLEMEN AND THE 
SHEEPMEN, BUT IN THIS INSTANCE, 
IT WAS STARTED BY SOMETHING BE- 
SIDE THE WOOLIES GRAZING WHERE 
THE COW-CRITTERS WANTED TO GO. 


he was able to bring in a thousand ship- 
ping lambs that would out-weigh every 
other herd by a good ten pounds per 
lamb. Не did it by keeping them con- 
stantly feeding. His herd spread widely, 
and traveled little. 

Mechanicaly he reached for the rifle 
that hung from straps along the wagon 
bows of the camp. Не had no intention 
of shooting at the newcomer, but he did 
intend to drop a bullet close enough to 
the man's nose to cause him to turn aside. 

And then, just before he pulled the 
trigger, the horseman seemed to come alive, 
and abruptly turned his horse to circle 
around the herd. Only a very few animals 
on the edge had been disturbed. 

À moment later Jarvis gave a disgusted 
grunt and hung up the rifle. He had 
recognized the stranger. 

When the man rode up to the camp 
Jarvis was standing on the ground with 
106 Р 


TURN THEM 


arms akimbo, and a belligerent look upon 
his face. 

“Well, what brings you here?” he de- 
manded. 

‘Hello, George,” the man answered, and 
then twisted uncomfortably in his saddle. 
He was a rather handsome man of about 
twenty-five, but with a weak chin, and 
thick, sullen lips. “Sure glad to find you 
at camp, George,” he got out then. “I’m 
in a jam." 

Veh? Why don’t you tell me some- 
thing new some time? Always in a jam. 
What is it this time?” 

“Listen, George: It wasn’t my fault. 
Of course I’ve been hangin’ around 
Blizzard some, but—" 

*You promised me the last time you'd 
stay away from there an' tend to busi- 
ness," Jarvis interrupted grufily. 

“I know. But a man's gotta have some 
fun," Marvin Crowell defended himself. 

George Jarvis regarded his brother-in- 
law with ill-disguised contempt. Time 
after time he had got this profligate 
brother of his wife's out of trouble; yet 
he knew that Crowell hated him in his 
heart. Only because there was no one else 
to turn to could have brought him here 
today. қ 
“Well, what is it?” Jarvis asked. 

“Tt—it’s a killin’ scrape this time. I 
didn’t do it—honest I didn’t. We was 
all in the back room of Winchell’s saloon, 
playin’ cards an’ gamblin’, when the row 
broke out. There was seven men in the 
saloon—all three of Win Winchell’s boys 
was there, an’ Bob Undergate their 
brother‘in-law, an’ one о’ the bartenders. 
The other two was me an’ Smilin’ Andy 
Hook, a rider for the Wishbone cow out- 
fit.” 

“An’ who was killed?” 

“Bob Undergate. It was a family row 
that flared up when Undergate accused 
Lafe Winchell of cheatin’? in the poker 
game. The whole outfit ganged up on him, 
seemed, an’ first thing I knowed I heard 
somebody give a sort of a squeak, an’ 
when I looked Undergate had a knife in 
his throat. We—we was all purty drunk.” 

“I doubt that," Jarvis muttered. “You 
was, I know. on." 

*Andy Hook was already ready to go 
under the table. In the mélée somebody 
had hit him on the head an' he'd passed 
out. Everybody was cussin' an' threaten- 
in', an' I didn't know what to do." 


SHEEP LOOSE! 107 

“Then what?” 

“Then they called old Win in an’ talked 
it over with him. First thing I knew he 
says to me, “So you murdered my son-in- 
law, did you? Well, we'll have yore neck 
in a noose for that.“ 

“Sure. That's an old Winchell trick," 
Jarvis commented. 

"Right away they all commenced to 
clamor at me, sayin' I'd killed Undergate, 
an’ sayin’ what they'd do to me. I was 
kinda confused. I didn't know what to 
say. Finally they quieted down, an' old 
Win says, ‘Young feller, you've just got 
one chance to save your neck. Your 
brother-in-law, George Jarvis, has been a 
splinter in my hip for a long time. I 
want that lambin' ground he controls on 
Birch Creek because I'm goin' into the 
sheep business myself. You bring me the 
deeds to that ranch he owns across the 
goose-neck, an' a transfer of the school sec- 
tion he holds an’ you go free“ I re- 
member what he said, word for word." 

“Ап” that was what brought you out 
here. You want me to go out of the busi- 
ness I've worked a life time to build up 
so you can make terms with the Win- 
chells. Is that it? Well, I won't do it. 
I've worked like a slave so that your sister, 
and our kids could have a decent chance 
in life. I'm not goin’ to throw it all over 
for a no-account brother who's never done 
anything but bring the blush of shame to 
his síster's cheeks," Jarvis said hotly. 

“You know damned well, George Jarvis, 
that Gladys would rather give up every- 
thing she owns than see her only brother 
hung for a murder he didn't commit," 
Marvin Crowell stated, a hint of defiance 
for the first time appearing in his sullen 
voice and eyes. 


@ 'EORGE JARVIS knew that it was 

all too true, and something inside 
him hurt like an old, reopened wound. 
Gladys was always paramount in his 
thoughts, but she would make any sacrifice 
to save this handsome good-for-nothing 
brother. 

“But look here," he said, “a murder has 
been committed. How are they going to 
get around that?” 

Crowell wet his cupid lips several times 
with his tongue before he could speak. 
“Andy Hook’ll have to be the goat,” he 
said. “He was too drunk to know what 
was goin’ on, We'll all swear it was him 


108 WESTERN ACTION 
who stuck the knife in Undergate. If we 
don't they'l scare him into swearin’ 
against me. Against five of ‘em what 
chance would I have?” 

“You're purty damned low, Marvin,” 
Jarvis said contemptuously. “Апу man 
who would swear another man onto the 
gallows to save his own neck is a dirty 
buzzard. Vou're just as low as the Win- 
chells.” 

“You mean you won’t save me?” 

“I mean just that, You’ve gone too far 
this time. You'll have to take your 
medicine. Even Gladys wouldn't want to 
save your life at the price of an innocent 
man's. Give yourself up and tell the 
truth," 

*We needn't tell Gladys the truth." 

“No!” George Jarvis shouted. 

“All right. I always knew you had it 
in for me. But I’m goin’ to see Gladys. 
Shell save my life at any price." e 
fellow turned his horse away, but Jarvis 
shouted at him to stop. 

“You can’t do that. Don't you know 
the condition she's in? It would kill her 
if she knew you was cowardly enough to 
want to swear an innocent man onto the 
gallows.” 

“By Gawd, I’m desperate,” Crowell 
asserted. “Unless you save me they'll 
have me hung. I ain't got a chance, 
Gladys'll make you do it. I know she will. 
Shes always done anything I’ve ever 
asked. Either you save me or I'll go to 
her? 

“You'd kill your sister, too, just to save 
your worthless neck?” 

“Tt wouldn’t kill. her.” 

But George Jarvis knew that it might. 
Worry over her ne’r-do-well brother had 
almost wrecked his wife’s health before. 
This blow, in her present delicate condi- 
tion, would finish her. But he knew that 
Marvin wouldn’t hesitate to appeal to her. 
On the other hand if Marvin was arrested 
it couldn’t be kept from Gladys and the 
effect might be the same. 

The Winchells would have to act 
quickly. The murder of Bob Undergate 
couldn’t be long concealed. They would 
have to name somebody as the killer— 
either Crowell or Hook—-within twenty- 
four hours, else suspicion would attach to 
them. 

“Git off your horse, Marvin, we must 
talk this over,” he said. “I won’t give 
you up for a crime you didn’t commit.” 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


Thus cajoled Crowell dismounted. There 
was a triumphant, crafty look in his eyes. 
He felt that he had won. 

Suddenly he felt himself clinched by 
his gigantic brother-in-law. He tried to 
resist, but he was flung heavily upon the 
ground. He spat and clawed, and cursed 
and threatened, but he was no match for 
the powerful sheepman. At the end of ten 
minutes he laid helpless upon the ground 
with his hands tied in front of him. 

“You dirty traitor,” he hissed. “Gladys 
will leave you for this.” 

*Mebbe," Jarvis said. “But right now 
you an’ me are goin’ on a trip.” 

The sheepman got together a small 
amount of food, and a water keg, and 
some blankets. His camp horses were still 
hanging around the camp. Soon he had 
one horse packed and his private mount 
saddled. He made Crowell get back on 
his horse and they rode down to where the 
herder still snoozed. 

*Me an' Marv are takin' a little trip, 
Axel" Jarvis said. “ГІ be back to- 
morrow. You'll be all right here for a 
couple of days. If anybody comes tell 
'em we've gone over on Tincup for a little 
fishin’,” 


“Yes, sir,” the herder answered. 

Crowell had kept so that his hands were 
out of sight, but the herder gazed after 
them wonderingly as they rode away. 

They avoided all sheep camps and 
ranches as they rode, and gradually bent 
back until they passed over a high ridge 
and dropped down into a wild, remote 
canyon, so broken up and criss-crossed by 
huge ledges and cliffs that it was called 
locally *the Devil's Dream." After travers- 
ing this labyrinth for an hour they stopped 
in perhaps the most inaccessible part of 
the whole canyon. 

“So you ain't goin’ to turn me in?" 
Crowell said. “But what's the diff? 
They'll have the law after me now. I 
suppose that’s what you want—to git rid 
of me.“ 

“Right,” Jarvis replied equably. “We’re 
goin’ to stay here for twenty-four hours. 
By that time we'll know what they're 
goin' to do." 

'The next twenty-four hours were some- 
thing of a nightmare to George Jarvis, as 
his brother-in-law by turns cursed him 
bitterly as a soulless ingrate, or grovelled 
before him to plead that he make terms 
with the Winchells. 


TURN THEM 


“ГІ make terms with em all right,” the 
sheepman said the next day. ‘You stay 
right here an’ you'll be safe. I don’t be- 
lieve they'll have the guts to charge you 
with that murder, but 111 find out.” 


E no longer had any reason to worry 

about Crowell trying to leave. The 
fellow would stay there because he didn’t 
dare to leave. Jarvis made a wide circle 
after leaving the Devil’s Dream, and then 
rode directly into the salty little settle- 
ment of Blizzard. 

For a long time the sheepman had been 
on bad terms with the Winchells. So had 
most other sheepmen, because the crooked 
outfit had located there in the heart of 
the sheep range especially to lure society- 
seeking shepherds into their dive, where 
they were eventually mulcted of their 
wages. In addition the Winchells had for 
a long time had their covetous eyes upon 
the fine range which Jarvis controlled. 

He rode directly to the hitch-rack in 
front of their saloon and went inside. 

Old Win Winchell, a tall, gaunt old man, 
with a long red beard, happened to be be- 
hind the bar, But the saloon was half 
full of men in cowboy garb—something 
quite unusual at that hour of the day, un- 
less the cowmen happened to be rounding 
up in the near vicinity. Though he had 
not many dealings with local cattlemen, 
Jarvis recognized these men as riders for 
the big Wishbone outfit. 

As the sheepman entered the cowmen 
- turned and regarded him with ill-concealed 
hostility. 

“Hello, there, Jarvis. Just the man we're 
wantin’ to see,” Win Winchell greeted. 

Out of the corner of his eye the sheep- 
man saw the cowmen edge nearer the bar 
in a sort of half circle. 

„That so?" Jarvis queried easily. “I 
hear you've been havin’ another killin’ 
down here." 

“Yeh. Poor Andy Hook. А decenter 
feller never lived. That’s what we wanta 
see you about. Do you know anything 
about the whereabouts of the dirty crook 
who murdered him—that poison-snake of 
a brother-in-law of yours,” Winchell shot 
out. 

George Jarvis didn’t turn a hair. If he 
was disturbed he didn’t show it.” 

“Now that's funny,” he said. Marvin 
didn’t tell me he’d killed Hook. But he 
did tell me he was on his way out of the 


SHEEP LOOSE! 109 


country because you had threatened to 
frame him for killin’ Bob Undergate. Ain’t 
you reported Undergate’s murder yet?” 

“Hell, Undergate ain’t dead. He left 
here with Crowell. The three of 'em was 
playin’ cards together, an’ we found Hook 
dead after they’d left,” Winchell said. “I 
allus told my gal, Bertie, that that damned 
Bob Undergate was no good.” 

The completeness of the frame-up left 
George Jarvis momentarily stunned. He 
hadn’t counted upon them murdering 
Hook, and claiming that Undergate was 
still alive. For him to tell the story that 
Marvin Crowell had told him would only 
get him laughed at. Yet he knew that 
Crowell had been telling the truth. 

The Winchells had known that he would 
never do as Crowell had asked him. They 
had some other kite in the wind. What 
was it? He was soon to know. 

Chick Gamble, the small, dynamic fore- 
man of the Wishbone thrust himself for- 
ward. 

“Git this, shep," he grated. “The Wish- 
bone don't leave any cold-blooded murder 
of one of its men unavenged. We've got 
every reason for knowin' that you're hidin' 
the man who killed Andy Hook. Fella, 
you turn him over to us before sundown, 
or else 

* Marvin Crowell is no good. Never yas, 
or never will be. But he didn't kill either 
Hook nor Undergate. The Winchells here 
murdered them both. Even if I knew 
where Crowell was I wouldn't give him 
u 572 
“By Gawd, по man сап talk like that 
about me in my own place,” Winchell 
roared. His hand came above the bar with 
a sawed-off shot-gun in it, but Chick 
Gamble placed himself between Jarvis and 
the saloon man. 

We'll deal with this hombre, Winchell,” 
he said. “I don’t think but damned little 
more of you than I do of him. Now 
Jarvis, I’m tellin’ you—deliver that fellow 
by sundown or you won’t have sheep 
enough left to feed a coyote.” 

Jarvis took one long look around be- 
fore he left the saloon. As he did so he 
caught a glimpse of a woman’s white face 
in a side door leading to the hotel which 
was part of the Winchell establishment. 
It was hastily withdrawn; but not before 
Jarvis had recognized the woman as the 
wife of the murdered Undergate. 

The sheepman crossed the street to 


7110 WESTERN ACTION 
another store, and purchased half a dozen 
boxes of cartridges to fit his rifle. The 
purchase did not go unnoticed by the cow- 
men. Then he mounted his horse and rode 
back to camp. 


E knew that the Wishbone men were 

not bluffing. Crowell was innocent, 
but there was nothing he could do about 
it, Undergate had di , but their 
claim that he had left town with Crowell 
would put the blame for his subsequent 
absence upon Crowell, or else they would 
claim merely that Undergate had left the 
country to keep from being hung for the 
murder of Andy Hook. The more he 
thought of the perfidy of the Winchell gang 
the more bitter he became, but there was 
по way out. 

He couldn’t surrender Crowell now, but 
the Wishbone would raid his herd, and in 
the end Winchell would get his range. All 
he could do was wait. 

“We're likely to be raided, Axel,” he 
told his herder. “Drive the herd back 
against that rim of lava at the foot of 
Cabin Butte an’ hold ’em there. I'll bring 
the camp. There’s a small creek trickles 
down an’ we can hold off an army for a 
while if necessary.” 

*G-gosh," Axel stammered. 

“You don't have to stay if you don't 
want to." 

“PI stay," Axel said dubiously. 

The sun hadn't been down an hour, an’ 
it was not yet dark, when the Wishbone 
riders arrived. "The sheep were back of 
the camp, and Jarvis let the men approach 
within shouting distance. 

“We want Crowell,” Gamble called in 
answer to the sheepman's challenge. 

*He's not here." 

“Give him up, or we'll take measures 
you don't like,” Gamble warned. 

*Come a yard farther and some of you 
will get hurt," Jarvis replied. “I know 
your reputation for raidin' sheep outfits, 
an' you're not goin' to raid mine." 

At a signal from their foreman the cow- 
hands spurred forward at full speed. They 
had no sooner started than Gamble’s high- 
crowned hat sailed off his head, propelled 
by a bullet from Jarvis’ rifle. 

But the warning wasn't enough. Six- 
shooters popping, the cowmen came оп. A 
volley of forty-five slugs ripped into the 
canvas cover of the camp, or struck the 
gravel around the wagon. 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


Jarvis, however, was prepared. With a 
bound he reached a barricade of sacks, 
each one containing a hundred pounds of 
stock salt. No revolver bullet could 
penetrate that salt. Тһе са етеп 
couldn’t flank him, because the high reef 
of lava rock formed a half circle just be- 
hind him. To get above that reef was an 
almost impossible chore since the side of 
the butte rose almost as steep as a cabin 
wall It was that which had given the 
butte its name. 

He had left a hole between the sacks 
for a loop-hole and he now thrust his rifle 

through it and fired four or five more 
shots as fast as he could work the lever. 
He was shooting now to kill. Not only his 
own life was in danger, but so was that 
of his herder who crouched fearfully be- 
hind a mass of boulders two hundred feet 
to the rear. 

Axel, too, had opened up at longer range. 
His shooting wasn't accurate, but it was 
demoralizing. And two of the onrushing 
cowmen had stopped Jarvis’ bullets. It 
dawned on the others that to keep on 
was to commit suicide. They wheeled 
abruptly and beat an inglorious defeat. 
Axel’s two dogs now rushed out and 
barked noisily at the fleeing men. 

“We'll git you for this, shep," Chick 
Gamble shouted back. 

George Jarvis arose wearily. Eventually, 
they would get him. He could only hope 
that the thing might be kept from Gladys 
until her time of travail was over. 

There was only one chance that he could 
see. The camp would not be molested 
again that night. He gave Axel his instruc- 
tions, mounted his horse and rode up into 
the Devil’s Dream, He found Crowell 
without difficulty. 

“Are they after me?” the fellow asked 
anxiously. 

“They are, They had you framed from 
the beginning. But it wasn’t you they were 
after, it was me,” He told his brother-in- 
law what had happened. “Now if you’re 
any man at all, Marvin, you'll take your 
medicine." 

“Give myself up to be hung!" Crowell 
cried, aghast. “I—I—can’t do that.” 

“If you don’t it will mean ruination for 
me and Gladys. Probably death for me, 
for ee lay down and be walked on. 
By 

Marvin Crowell recoiled and picked up 
a rock the size of his fist. “You can't give 


TURN THEM SHEEP LOOSE! 


me up,” he screamed. “ГІ kill you. Go 
away from me.” 

Jarvis hesitated. It had come into his 
mind that it would be far better to give 
this worthless fellow over to the law than 
it was to lose everything he had, and 
wreck his wife’s life. But he realized the 
depths of Gladys’ affection for her brother. 
If he gave the trembling wretch up to be 
hung for a murder he hadn’t committed it 
would probably kill Gladys and she would 
die hating Jarvis himself. 

“Don’t be scared,” he said dully, “if 
you ain’t got the spunk to take this thing 
off my hands I won’t give you up.” He 
waited for a moment for the man to show 
some latent spark of manhood, but Crowell 
refused to meet his eyes. Terror of the 
rope was too great. Wearily Jarvis 
mounted his horse and returned to camp. 


HE next morning Axel allowed the 

herd to graze out toward the valley, 
while Jarvis kept watch from the top of a 
cliff on the side of Cabin Butte. The sheep- 
man knew that he dared not let the woolies 
get far enough from camp to be surrounded. 
Chick Gamble and his men would not hesi- 
tate to get around them and drive the 
sheep pell-mell over one of the many steep 
lava reefs that traversed the valley. 

It was nearly ten o'clock in the morning 
when the sheepman sighted a cloud of dust 
from the direction of Blizzard. He prompt- 
ly fired two shots from his rifle as a signal 
for Axef to head the herd back the other 
way. 

The signal was none too soon. The cloud, 
which quickly dissolved into & dozen rapid- 
ly moving riders, was coming fast. Axel 
had to use his dogs freely to get his charges 
into the safety of the bend. The riders 
fired a volley of shots at the rear of the 
herd, and two or three sheep crumpled. 
Axel legged it for his shelter behind the 
boulders. 

'Then George Jarvis went into action 
with his rifle. At his first shot a cowboy 
dropped his gun and grabbed his shoulder. 
At the second one a bullet-burned horse 
went into a spasm of pitching that made 
its rider grab his mount with both hands. 

The cowmen had faced that deadly 
marksman once; they had no wish to come 
to closer quarters, They got their mounts 
under control, somebody picked up the 
head of the bucking horse, and they re- 
treated to a safe distance. 


111 


The са Шетеп dismounted and Jarvis 
could see that they were rendering first 
aid to the man he had shot. Then the 
fellow mounted his horse and rode toward 
town. The rest of them remained. Jarvis 
saw the reason why when a little later a 
light commissary wagon arrived with a 
complete camp equipment. Instantly he 
comprehended the strategy of his enemy. 
They were going to start a siege. 

He could hold them at bay with his rifle, 
but he couldn’t keep his sheep in those 
cramped quarters indefinitely. Starvation 
would soon drive them out—and when they 
passed beyond the camp the cowmen would 
seize them. : 

Soon after the cattlemen's camp was set, 
up а man mounted a horse and rode for- 
ward alone, He carried a white cloth con- 
spicuously on his arm. It was Chick 
Gamble. 

«ГИ keep him covered," Axel volun- 
teered. s 

Jarvis walked-out in front of the camp 
and waited for the foreman of the cow 
outfit to arrive. 

“Better drop this business an’ turn 
Crowell over to us,” Gamble advised: 
“We'll stay here till yore sheep have to 
come out, an’ we sure won’t be easy on ’em 
after that. You’ve shot up three of our 
boys already, an’ if there’s any more of it 
you'll find yourself danglin’ from a tree 
along with Crowell." 

“Crowell didn't murder yore man. It was 
the Winchell outfit. They killed Bob Un- 
dergate, too, because they didn't like him. 
They killed Hook to cover up that and to 
set you an' me against each other." 

“Got any proof of that except the word 
of a dirty crook and murderer?” 

“None. But I know it’s right.” 

*I don’t believe a word of it. What's 
your answer: Do we get Crowell or not?” 

“Not if I can prevent it,” Jarvis said 
steadily. N 

Gamble turned and rode back to his men 
at a fast trot. 

George Jarvis slumped down upon the 
wagon- tongue. Bitterly he realized that 
his no-good brother-in-law had got him in- 
to a mess of trouble from which there 
seemed to be no way to extricate himself. 
Yet Crowell was innocent of murder. 

The sheep had filled up that morning, 
and were content to lie around camp until 
five in the evening. Then they tried to 
trail out to the better feed. When the 


112 


leaders had got several hundred yards 
away from the camp Axel sent his dogs 
around them. Instantly the  besiegers 
started sniping at the dogs from long range 
with their rifles. They didn't kill the ani- 
mals, but they came close enough to one 
to send it ki-yiing back to camp. 

The other dog got the sheep back, but 
the besieged men realized that it wouldn't 
do to let the sheep get so far again. The 
cowhands were shots, and if they 
killed the dogs there would be no way to 
hold the sheep. 

That night Jarvis and Axel took turns 
standing guard. By the light of the cam 
fire at the other camp they knew that the 
Wishbone men were watching like hawks. 

The next morning it was stil] more dif- 
ficult to hold the sheep. The animals were 
hungry and they resented being close- 
herded. They picked around the camp, but 
it kept the dogs busy most of the time. 

arvis realized that his enemies were watch- 
ng and laughing at his predicament. 


HEN, just before noon, a worse blow 

befell. The little creek from which 
they got water ran down from the side of 
the butte through a narrow crevice, no more 
than six inches wide in places. When Axel 
went to get water to start dinner with he 
found it reeking with filth. They realized 
then that their foes had climbed to the 
source of the water high above and were 
contaminating it with every kind of débris 
- they could scrape up. Also it had a yel- 
lowish color, from sacks of sulphur which 
had been dumped into the spring. It was 
utterly unusable. 

e like they got us," Jarvis said bit- 
terly. 

Axel shrugged helplessly. 

The sheepman was almost. desperate 
enough to take his rifle and ride out fight- 
ing until his foes shot him down. But he 
knew that that was what they wanted. And 
it wouldn’t help matters. The sheep, now 
thirsty as well as hungry, were becoming 
harder and harder to hold. The dogs were 
getting sore-footed and rebellious. It was 
only a matter of time until he must take 
his choice—give up his brother-in-law or 
see the savings of a lifetime of hard labor 
and privation destroyed. 

Occasionally now a cowboy rode danger- 
ously close to yell out a taunt. Jarvis 
gripped his rifle hard, but he wouldn’t fire 
unless he was being directly attacked. 


WESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE 


“We can hold ’em till tomorrow morn- 
ing," he told his camp-mover, “Then, if 
nothing else happens, you take to the butte. 
РІ let the sheep go, and I'll go out behind 
em.“ 

The camp-mover turned a trifle paler 
than he was, and his complexion had been 
getting lighter ever since the siege began. 
He knew that his employer would have to 
be killed before the cowmen got the sheep. 
But they would g them. 


That eveni ck Gamble again rode 
forward under his flag of truce and ted 
out how crazy Jarvis was to resist er. 


“We don't want your damned sheep 
killed even if Winchell does. But we do 
want Marvin Crowell, an’ by Gawd we're 
gonna have him.” 

“You'll not get him through any help 
from me," Jarvis defied. 

The sheep man was utterly desperate. 
Either way it went he would lose. Only 
one thing in God's world could save him. 
That was for the real truth to come out. 

Suddenly he remembered that fleeting 

lance he had had of the face of Bob Un- 
te's wife. There had been something 
in her expression. 
“Axel,” he said, “I want you to try to 
hold the sheep tonight. I'm going away. 
If I ain't back by daylight let 'em go.” 

It was ticklish business getting out of 
the pass. He had to climb up through 
and over the crevice through which ran . 
the creek, oftentimes averting a dangerous 
fall by clinging with his fingertips. But 
two hours after dark found him in a place 
from which he could make his way down 
to the valley a mile south of the cowmen's 
camp. He was afoot, but it was little more 
than a two-hour walk to Blizzard. 

The only weapon he had been able to 
bring was a rusty old six-shooter belonging 
to Axel, but it was the Winchells he was 
determined to settle with, and not the cat- 
tlemen's cat's-paws. 

There was still sounds of revelry. and 
drunken carousal at the Winchell saloon 
when Jarvis neared the place. Unseen the 
sheepman slipped around back of the sa- 
loon and hotel. Two drunken sheepherd- 
ers were emptying the contents of a pint 
flask, and he waited until they flung the 
bottle away and reéntered the saloon be- 
fore he made his way through the refuse 
of the backyard and tried the back door 
leading into the hotel. It was unlocked. 

He tried the door softly and it opened 


TURN THEM SHEEP LOOSE! 


far enough to permit him to peer inside. 
А greasy ing man cook in a soiled 
apron was stirring something on the stove. 
Some of Winchell’s customers liked to be 
fed at all hours. Jarvis stepped inside. 

The cook whirled. “What do you 
want?” 

Jarvis put an admonitory finger to his 
lips, then dropped a five dollar bill into 
the cook’s hesitant hand. 

“І want you to bring Bob Undergate's 
wife here without anybody knowing it," 
he said. Tell her I’ve got a message from 
Bob." 

*Sure," the man said, 

Ten minutes later Bertie Undergate came 
into the kitchen. "You've come 
Bob?" she queried eagerly. 

“Yes, But we must go some place to 
talk,” Jarvis said. “You keep this quiet,” 
he said to the cook. 

“Sure,” the man promised, 


| Jarvis’ satisfaction the woman led 
1 the way outside and across to the 
shadow of a vacant building. “Where is 
Bob?" she demanded. 

*He's dead," Jarvis replied bluntly. He 
caught the woman's arm to steady her, but 
she betrayed little emotion. “As a matter 
of fact,” he went on, “your father and 
brothers murdered him hours before they 
did Andy Hook, They killed Hook to 
cover up the other crime.” 

“So that’s what they done,” the woman 
said. “Т knowed they was mad because 
me an’ Bob was gonna pull out. Bob was 

оппа blackmail em. Сар you prove they 
illed Bob?" 

“Only you can do that,” Jarvis said 
eagerly. He knew that the real crisis had 
arrived, 

“How kin I—” 

"They've killed men before. You must 
know what they do with the bodies.” 

“Sure I do. I know they’ve buried two 
men right under the floor of this old barn.” 

“Listen: You bring me a shovel, and a 
lantern, and 111 bet you anything you 

lease you'll find your husband's body right 
ere. 

The woman vanished like a spirit. She 
was back inside ten minutes, and she held 
a horse blanket around the lantern while 
Jarvis worked desperately after he had re- 
moved some loose boards in the floor, and 
found some freshly turned earth. Four 
feet down the grisly business came to an 


113 


end. He found a blanket-wrapped body, 
which, when disinterred, proved to be the 
corpse of Bob Undergate. 

The woman gave a low moan, and there 
was a look of incredible savagery upon 
her face. 

“They killed my Bob,” she pd 
fiercely. “They said him an’ Marv Cro 
left the country because they killed Hook, 
Oh, but I'll tell plenty about them now 
plenty.” 

“Come with me,” Jarvis whispered back 
jubilantly. “Welt hide the body under 
this blanket for the present.” 

With little difficulty they managed to 
"borrow" two saddled horses, and an hour's 
ride brought them to the camp of the Wish- 
bone outfit. They were challenged as the 
arrived, but the presence of a woman 
mitted them. 

"What the hell?" Gamble dem 
when he saw who it was. “I thought 

*Never mind what you thought," Jarvis 
interrupted. “This is Bob Undergate’s 
wife and she's got something to tell you." 

Before the woman's story was really fin- 

ished the boys of the Wishbone were grimly 
сен their horses and getting ready to 
ride. 
“Before we go I want to apologize," 
Chick Gamble said. ^I never thought Ра 
apologize to a sheepman, but, by Gawd, 
fella, yo're a man." 

“The apology is accepted, but I'm goin’ 
with you—just as soon as I tell Axel to 
turn them sheep loose," Jarvis said. 

“Good,” the cattle foreman said. “Now 
we'll see just how much guts the Winchells 
have got when it cothes their turn to face 
а hangman.” 

It was midway between the first crack 
of dawn and sunrise when the party ar- 
rived in Blizzard. Nobody was yet astir 
around the Winchell resort. The woman 
let them silently into the saloon. Then 
she rushed into the other compartment and 
emitted a hair-raising shriek. 


MMEDIATELY the male Winchells and 
their retainers came tumbling out of 

their beds. 

“What is it?” old Win demanded. 

Inside the saloon! There's a man,” the 
woman cried. 

“Come on, boys,” old Win said. “Tf it’s 
some damned sheepherder—” 

He rushed inside, with his husky sons 
at his heels. The next moment they paused, 


114 WESTERN ACTION 
and their eyes fairly bulged from their 
heads. Every place they looked they saw 
an armed man. George Jarvis and Chick 
Gamble stood side by side. 

*Hoist your hands, you Winchells. Your 
game is finished. This is the last time you 
cause trouble between sheep and cow men," 
Gamble ordered curtly. 

Slowly the hands of the murderous outfit 
^went upward. 


NOVELS MAGAZINE 


From just behind them came the loud, 
raucous laughter of the woman they had 
made a widow. 

“What's your hurry, Jarvis?" Chick 
Gamble asked, a little later as Jarvis started 
to get his horse. The little cattle foreman 
was more than friendly. 

I'm sorry,” Jarvis sighed, but I've 
gotta go up in the Devil's Dream and kick 
the hell out of a skunk.“ 


A COMPLETE 
WESTERN NOVEL 


HERIFF MIDDLETON'S steely eyes ranged 

along the silent line of men. 

“The men who killed Jim Grimes are in this 
saloon,” he said finally. Some of you are the 
murderers.” He was careful not to let his eyes 
single out anyone when he spoke; they swept the 
whole assemblage. 

“Гуе been expecting this. Things have been 
getting a little too hot for the robbers and mur- 
derers who have been terrorizing this camp, so 
they’ ve started shooting my deputies in the back. 
I suppose you'll try to kill me, next. Well, I want 
to tell you sneaking rats, whoever you are, that 
I’m ready for you, any time.” 

He fell silent, his rangy frame tense, his eyes 
burning with watchful alertness. None moved, 
The men along the bar might have been figures 
out from stone. 

He relaxed and shoved his gun into its scab 
bard; the shadow of & sneer twisted his lips. 


"I know your breed. You won't shoot & marí 
unless his back is toward you. Forty men have 
been murdered in the vicinity of this camp within . 
the last year, and not one had a chance to defend 
himself. 

“Maybe this killing is an ultimatum to me. 
All right; Гуө got an answer ready. I've gota 
new deputy, and you won't find him so easy аз 
Grimes. I'm fighting fire with fire from here on, 
I'm riding out of the Gulch early in the morning, 
and when I come back, I'll have a man with me, 
A gunfighter from Texas!“ 

He paused to let this information sink in. 

"You'll find him no lamb,” he predicted vin- 
dietively. “Не was too wild for the country 
where gun-throwing was invented. What he did 
down there is none of my business. What he'll 
do here, is what counts And all I ask is that the 
men who murdered Grimes here, try that same 
trick on this Texan.” 


And when this gunman from Texas hit Wahpeton, trouble really started. 
You can find out all about the Vultures of this lawless town, and the steely-eyed 
gunslinger who rode in to kill at the bidding of the sheriff, in the December issue of 


SMASHING NOVELS 


MAGAZINE 


The REMUDA is open to all readers of WHSTERN ACTION NOVELS. We encourage 
‘correspondence. Here, you will make new friends; perhaps thousands of miles away or 


right fn your own home town. а 
If you don't want your name and ad 


confidential to us and we will forward all answers to 


our letter in to us and we will print it in these es. 
ess to appear, sign your n 


e and send address 
ou. Let's hear what you think of 


this magazine. Address, Room 204, 165 Franklin St., N. Y. C. 


A REQUEST FOR INFORMATION 
Dear Wrangler. 
Would appreciate your publishing the follow- 
i о be а jungle tramp, go x ме, etc. 
We informi vm such 


how ts it to go 

d thank you readers for on information 
you can furnish on the above and in return will 
do for you any favor within тау reach. 

ітсегейу 
- GEO.” JEAGER, 

815 So. Hil St., Suite 610, 
Los Angeles, Calif. 


LIKES OLD TIME SONGS 
Dear Wrangler- 

Gould a lonely young felins from Western 
сыру сас a e get a I pen pals? I need some- 
thing to Ro me sy тигізе these long winter 
months ahea 

Р ат rcc не years of age, have LA brow 
wavy hair and oe eyes. Рт 5 ft. 8 in. (on 

and weigh 145 Т I play the guitar and love 
ihe мера songs x? the mountains and range. 
have @ € collection of songs and wish to ex- 
change 2 all wha care to. 

i divite and welcome you ali to wriie. Espe- 
cially those from foreign countries and those who 
would like to exchange songs. Will answer all 
letters pun and ГЕ to make my lettera 
interesting. Who will be first to write from your 
state or country? It may be ре том, 


Sincerely, 
CLIFFORD EARL, 
New Milford, Conn. 
Star Route, 


COLLECTS SOUVENIRS 
Dear Wrangler Е 
I would like to join The Remuda. 1 enjoy 
movies, reading, тоз? sports, traveling. My 
hobby is collecting souvenirs. Would like 
ear from someone in every state. Come on 
pen pals and do your bit too 
Im 30 years of sir am п five foot four, Weigh 
one hundred forty, Ж brown curly hair 
and dark brown eyes. UL be glad to — 
snapshots too. 
They nicknamed me Sweet Adeline. 

Anyone who wishes to write 10 my roommate 
five oor. four, dett c = rae " —.— A 
ve foot four, w one hundr. then е, 
494 — and eyes. Address Petty" 

my! cane ea me. 


Sincerely, 
ELYSEE A. BASTMON, 


Athens, Ohio. 


The Old Wrangler. 


SAILORS ARE HER WEAKNESS 
Dear Wrangler: 

1 know there are many requests coming to you, 
7 705 e th heart | New York girl. not quite 
am an year ew Yor irl, not q 
5 oat p e сы igh 10 102 s dark brunette, 

ght & 

I should е to с * № boys between 
ae - 5. — 1 af preter "tail Blonds, ha love to hear 
а Por E" t E those resid- 


aot CX. d 


quite a few times. 
and PU certainly make т 
0f — atlors are ту we 


Navy 
In anticipatio 
LIZETTE SOLOMON, 
720 St. Ann's Avenue, 
New York City, V. F. 


letters interesting. 
ness—how about [^ 


LONELY STAMP COLLECTOR 

Dear Wrangler: 

How is my — of ME euo d in your Bunk, 

I am 25 years eet, weight 165 
pounds, and a — 4 reader of your magazine. 

1 ат а keen stamp collector and 1 also collect 
pictures of boats. 

lease, members, send me some stamps and J 

will send same, only different, as I am lonely and 
would like to i — from stamp collectors; also 
from other m. 

AT also would like’ to hear from girls and boys 

all ages as І have plenty of time to write, о 

please Nil my тай box. 


хоме D 
RA T “MEY ERS, 


e/a Whitney's Poultry MA 
Roh Ontario, 


FROM THE “PARADISE OF THE PACIFIO” 
Dear Wrangler. 

1 am 4 onely s soldier here in the “Paradise 0, 
the Pacific,” I would ^s to get in touch wit 
some T Pala of either lam 21 years old, 
ens 5 ibs. 8 ft. 7 3 tall and have a fair 


ompl 

^t ooul appreciate hearing from pals all eund 
the world, and they can assure themselves ali let- 
tere will be answered. I am interested in all Tune 
of sports and 1 have seen quite а bit of the О. S., 
ме „ men and girls рі. write 

com a Td 
to me, алд I will tell — ail ow t Hawai 


8 since 
PVT. WILLIAM. BILL) 2 pee 
Battery С, 66th Coast Artillery, 
Fort Kamehameha, 
Honolulu, Нашай. 


A COUPLE OF CCC BOYS 
Our Dear Wrangler 
We became ОА іп your Remuda whi 
reading the “Western Action Magazine” and woul 
like 10 rope ourselves а lot of pen pals, We would 
love to hear or correspond with lonely girls ай 


over the 

We are 2 lonely CCC buddies іп the wilds of 
Idaho. Both are 144; hite апа ground 20. Girls 
say we are not hard to Ibo at. We will exchange 
snapshots with any of you girls, 80 come on all 


of you lonely gals and Em Py us NU 5 8. 


Со. 558-Е-137, BARL WERLING, 
Coeur d'Alene, 
Idaho. 


A MUSIC TEACHER 
Dear Wrangler: 

Will you please pd my letter for pen pals. 
Everyone write and I will answer every letter and 
alao «ола snapshots, 

I am а есу and voice—naturally 
talented and especially gifted in “swing” music, І 
play classical music and have taught a number 
of years—siudied in one of our prominent músic 
colleges. Dislike sports or games of any kind, 
Love to read and attend musical pictures. Tall and 
fair, jolly and lots of fun. 

LORRAINE, 


c/o Wrangler. 


DON'T DISAPPOINT THIS ENGLISH GIRL 
Dear Wrangler: 

1 am a very.logesome girl from across the big 
pond land wowd "feel grateful for а letter or two 
oe any one who can write or spare the time 

to write а few lines. 

Life's all right 80 long as you've got some one 
to keep you company, but gosh if you were 
feeling like me you'd want to take off yw hat 
and eat ft. So I'm sending out an 8.0.8. to all 
you folks who know how to use a pen; 25 I 
promise to send a souvenir to the first eim whe 
write. Come on you chaps don't det the gals beat 
you, 

By the 


ry I'm 19, fair wavy hair, blue eyes 
and 6 ff. 6 too. Е 


ins, tall, Fond о 2 
PEGGY WALDOCK, 


*'Daisymead" 
Oscshott, 
Surrey, Eng. 


A NURSE IS LONELY, TOO 
Dear Wrangler. 
Only became acquainted with your magasine 


recently and by accident, But I wouldn't miss it 
now. 1 think it’s great. 

І ат a nurse, and would like to get ac- 
quainted with some pen pals, around my own 
age which is 30. Will answer all letters promptly. 
Wishing your magazine every success. 

A NURSE, 
c/o The Wrangler. 


OWNS A GERMAN HELMET 
Dear Wrangler: 

This is the first letter I have ever orietan toa 
magazine to tell them how much I appreciate 
good stories. 

How about getting me some pen pals. 

I am fifteen years of age and have dirty blond 
hair. m five feet six inches and weigh 130 
pounds. I play football and love it. My favorite 
sporis are football, baseball, hockey, swimming, 
horseback riding, in that order. 

2 : save stamps and own a German World Wer 
met. 

I love to receive letters and promise to answer 
all letters that are received. I will also exchange 
snapshots of everything for everything. 

LEON KENT, 


1777 771% Street, 
Brooklyn, N. Y. 


ONLY TWO MONTHS IN TOWN 
Dear Wrangler: 

I have been reading “Western Action Novels" 
for quite a while and I think they are the best 
books have read yet. I have only been іп 
town two months so I am pretiy lonesome, 
would like some pen Фан, anywhere, My 
is 14 years 5 I am 5 ft. & ins, in height and 
1 weigh 4 st. 4 lbs. I have dark curly hair and 
pray eyes nu am very interested in music. 

Hoping to get lots of letters. 

LILY TRAIL, 
14, Union Grove, 


Fraserbur, gh, 
proi und y OR Scotland, 


GOES TO COLLEGE AT NIGHT 
Dew Wrangler: 

o you think you could possibly wrangle a few 
pen pals my way? I am а young girl of 24—con- 
sidered good looking. At present І am going to 
college at nights. I have no chance 2 7] out 
ROME so I habe time to write to pals if 1 had 


efor Tika, vera with д forte "hear урот pats 
Ke, v —: o hear fro 
n alo. trade photos with all 
ам 1 He ae 
^ — fingers crossed 1 wait (by the 


ii Б 

mail box) RUTH SARGIS, 
606 Bond St., 

Elizabeth, N. J. 


WANTED: FROM 18 TO 88 


Deor Wrangler: 
m 19 years of age, 5 ft. 8% inches tall, weigh 
100 ud fair complexion, light hair, ‘grayish 
T Uke to dance, hike, listen їо cowbo oy songs 
„i Hawaiian music. I'm simply wild about 


90 271 

all you cowboys and cowgirls and every- 

body else, from anywhere a everywhere, give 
me a break, will vou, uh? Please 

Come one, come all you young fellows and 

from 18 to 88, inclutled, and write, because 


m waiting 
Impatiently, 
DIXIB, 
c/o Wrangler. 


FRIENDS IN NEED 
ear Wrang 
We would like to write to pen pals from all 
over the wor. 


Te are two brunettes, | * 20 years of age. 
Flo, am 6 ft. 6 inches tall, weigh 130 Ibs. 
ed have brown eyes. — 2 Acad 2 interested 
іп classical music oat ee 
Олу 2 tall, weigh 123 lbs. 
Am very much inclined 


А, ре T ат тетт 3 from every- 
ere. on' n 
^ MISS E. Jus SMOCK, 


MISS FLO. 2 NER, 
Casnovia, Michigan. 


A DOUBLE CALL FOR PEN PALS 
Dear ой Wrangler: 

We have been reading your magazines and 
PAM it ig the best book on sale. And we would 
be pan eased if you could make room for our plea, 

e are two young girls, eee 16 and 18 
years of age, wanting pen 8 from all over the 
world especially from the 2 but all are wel- 


- 
Mary is 16 and has light brown hair, gray eyes, 

5 ft. 18 іп. tall, weighs 136 lbs. dus 18, has 
dark brown 5 light brown eyes, 5 ft. 8 in. tall, 


weighs 134 l 
в from far and near, write 


o come on ‘pen 
to two lonesome girls. 
MISS LOU RASAR, 
Lenoir City, ` MISS MARY RASAR, 


Tennessee. 


ALL LETTERS ARE WELCOME 
De Ole Wrangler: 
am a very lonely Filipino Miss of sixteen 
^ would like to correspond with people from 
all over the world. 

I'm not particular about nationalities, age, 
looks or wealth, so come on and write to me 
everybody. 

1 am а dark complected girl with black hair 
and атк" brown eyes 

I am sort of tall and slender. 

I have all sorts of interesting things to tell 
you people in the О. S. A. and other countries. 

1 would like т very — — to have the people of 
Желе and other Hawaiian Islands write to 


те be glad to receive any ole letter and I'll 
answer every letter I receive. 

I promise a prompt reply to those who send 

me their picture in their first. letters. 

Please, please write to me everybody, be- 
pouso Pm. E lonely and would love to have 
rie 8.—4 

3 awaiting the arrival of your letters 


1 remain, 

(MISS) ROSE SAMSON. 
1607 Stillman Lane, 
Honolulu, 7T. H. 


116 


«gr ron ES TO HEAR FROM WESTERNERS 
@ regular reader of “Western Action 


oveis." I am seeking pale ail over the world. 
ri like to * e from c cowboys and cowgirls 


iri d гі, В t tall, saigh 106 1% 
air, - 18 year 5 


come on foiks and send а ‘some Sin “ауага 
ours 7 

EDITH HECTOR, 
“Wayside” 
Pook Lane, 
Warbilin, on, Havant, 
Hants, England. 


ee ее AND RUGBY ҒАМ 


Dear 

“Could you me lease be so kind as to find me pen 
Pais in the dites are 8 Canada, and anywhere 
else in -— Dedi % the ge 25 

Iam n play soccer, base- 


sportema 
dall, sand 1 . tell you £y about our National 
game of rugby. 
1 can tell all who write to me all about sunny 
South Africa — send photos of the lovely city 


of pure 
i like to hear from boys and girls of 
about. 18 to % years, 
ow come all you readers and write to ^ 
Springbok reader. 


I am, 
Yours since 
0. ELLI 
74, Sandeleur St., 
Cape Town, 
South % 


—— 
AN 8.0.8, FOR FOREIGNERS 

Dear Old ow 
To 6 i would ies some apa pale {rom 
estdes ell 


о 
terested in eg anything under the sun, 
music, danci , readi eto. 


a, Blea. 


ts from that buy your 
"Western “Action oe "ыз 446 this 8.0.8. call. 
Come on, 1 say, and write to mé. 
LUCILLE KRENTZ, 
дорий, 


8, Dak. 
> A LONELY ENGLISH WIDOWER 


sgr grapat: 
re for MIT 2 ends-—can you 
ашт а p L^ EDS er? І am D E жене 
of age, 6 feet black hair, and дағ 
eyes. I would like to rrespond with 2 e 
any age, but prefer them от 80 years o. up- 
wards, All can rely on their letters ено an- 


d. 
жен А LONELY WIDOWER, 
c/o Wrangler. 


D = > PLAYS THE GUITAR 
egr rangler: 
am eager Jor pen pals, во come on, boys and 
ER Gaa pb to me. І want to from every» 
one vos P Write and if a have а spare snap- 
$ seti to pene it. would prefer ng 
C. C. s and лы but everyone 


welcome. 
Ohi 7 Pien to give уо 4 you a description of my- 


self. T curly p 
‘air е ton 5 fest, 8 in, 


1 — ^ 10 
- nd to dead ears. play the guitar, sing, and 


== Bang 5-4 
The [^M person that I get a letter from gets 


! 8 
€ РЕ. ie MILDRED CHANNELL, 
on un Senne 
Valley Head, W. Fa. 
FROM DOWN OKLAHOMA WAY 
rangler- 
Hemi E @ poor ole lonesome gir! space 
* nineteen years, am five 
^nm eight p 725 1 have dark brown һай 
and — — — а кек complexion. I weig 
4 irom both Pr m cowboys, 


ore, 
— га Me 


e 4% . io 


f if po 
le, УҒА 4 "m fame. Wourdn't pond ike t to 


‘ -— 198 


out E sand hills of Oklahoma from 
7" Then come оп and take you 

ona ce for I М “hued on a farm all my life 
ht here in dear ole Qkl сее. g ré * а: 

blows in the spring and rains 4 

MISS” FAYE" PHÍ 

Binger, Okla. 


0 correspond with some pen pale, 
td ved part Hke fo interested in о 2-2 dru nettes, 


am 7296 likeable chap, pee 2. eleven 
nana tall and weigh 158 pounds. curt, 
sandy hair and grey eyes. I am oy ‘exact 
unpre possessin: x my appearance, beihg al 
handsome. 1 а pleasing personality. 
athleticaliy inclined, а ing а superb wrestler, 
am also proficient at chess. 

1 соға hope . you will — this in 


Rem members of the 
fair 38 br and, it worth their white ^to corre- 


PERRY H. APPLETON, 
140 E, College Ave., 
State Coilege, Pa. 


OF SPANISH AND INDIAN DESCENT 


Dear черг. 

І een reading “Western Action Novels" 
for a long time, but JA never E the courage to 
write and ask for some pen So here goes! 
i going to describe Ae. “and the sports I 


1 am five feet two inches tall, weigh one hun- 
dred and four auna; have dark brown curly hair 
«АР — eves, = 22 sos руе 

are ng. ng, cing, 
e Mise, and tem 1 atso like to keep 

T. am of Spanish and Indian descent but Ed 
let that stop you pen pals. I am rooy a patriotic 
American citizen. Р ould like 
boys and giris down Berto but that rd t kee 
the rest of you away. WG seuhange ся snapsho: 
with whoever wants to — И write and tell you 
some tery exciting and adventurous stories 
You see, I've been to lots and lots of places. 


ATHER E CARMAN, 
guter Street, 2 


hear from 


106. South 
Baltimore, 


WE'LL TAKE A BOW 
Dear Wrangler: 


I came across the Remuda in the “Western Ac» 
tion Novels" тасажіпе To say 1 was surprised 
is to put it mildiy. Your magazine ia the only 
magazine I ever read that devoted so much space 
Jor pen pals. To 22 n with ЖА. ат 2 LI oue 
Have brown 
and 4 4% 143 pe am p а bad io 
either. Thou, 


hd о а 
boy X in Austro Prance. and a 
are Же eur Radio, GE 2... 
coll flags of the variou 1 
and a of course, co тв vi Satie sins 
ags my most intere e 
rom Australia, France and German: 
pals but opn like more. 


Oh Ht 
spondence. hat i 
— English very So let's c) a lot of 
ls sagan 0 their ink this way. РИ 4-0-4 
anythin ng. ith best wishes for your magasine 
remain, 


DAVID W. LEB, JR. 


er Жете 
Риана ia, 


LIVES ON A FARM AND LIKES IT 
Dear Wrangler: 
І am sixteen years old, have light brown hair, 
brown eyes considered easy on the eyes 
1 — time to correspond with pen pate who 
wish to write to me. 1 live on a farm in NNNM. 
1 Jeet irae out in the country rather than 4 
stuffy city. 
7 love to go horseback riding. dancing, swim- 
nhe ny сино, ig Rs on and get your 
ns in answer to my s 
= seti also exchange pictures ий anyone tha? 


жетеле те RUTH JONES, 
Helena, agora 
Route On 


A SET OF TWINS 
Dear. ou Wrongier: 
Is there a 
your Remudo, 
Maine is 5 ft. 
hair, ir, отау АСТ 
8 


for 8 lonesome twins to join 
ins. tolk; light brown wavy 


you 

We would ne to hear from boys and girls 
between 15 and 25 years. Our favorite hobbies 
are dancing, swimming E eu collecting popular and 
Western во VID ene hange with anyone. 

We promise to ewer all letters and will ex- 
change snapshots, with all. 

So come on boys and girls send some letters 


our way. 
MAXINE WELCH, 
MAX WELCH, 

General Delivery, 

Osceola, Indiana. 


LIVES IN A HOUSE TRAILER 
Dear Wrangler: 
I'm living alone in my house-tratler, and my 
magor sports are reading and letter writing, and 
I do just that most every night and sometimes 
during the day when work is slack, and I have 
penty of time to write, so I'm looking for some 


pals. 

е past 30, weight 146, 5 ft. 7% ín. in height, 
dark hair and eyes. ould enjoy hearing from 
pen pals anywhere, Will exchange snaps and 
answer promptly. Thanking you, 

1 remain sincerely yours, 
G. FORMAN, 

Route 4, Bow 

Watsonville, dl, 


HAS TOO MANY HOBBIES 
Dear Wrangler: 

How are the chances for becoming a member 
of your Pen Pal Club? I read every issue of your 
magazine and think the stories are "tops," in other 
words splendid. Е 

1 ат espécially interested in hearing from for- 
eign countries, but assure you that all lettera re- 
ceived from anywhere, whether it be the good old 
0. 8. 4. or any foreign country, will be welcome 
and answered as promptly ав saible. 

1 am 21 years of age, have light brown hair 
and blue eyes. My hobbies are too numerous to 
mention so 1 will condense them down and say 
that 1 am s interested fn ай outdoor sports, 

1 sincerely hope this letter finds а place in your 
magazine and A. it does, thanks a million. 

will close, hoping to hear from some of tha 
other readers within the very near future. 
incerely, 
DEE NICKERSON, 
2085 N. E. 43 7 
Portland, Oreg. 


A WOULD-BE TRUE PAL 
I" Wrangler: 

I read your magazine and enjoy your stories so 
much that 1 feel entitled to a few pen pals via the 
Remuda route. 

1 am a sailor in our Uncle Sam's Navy, stationed 
іп the Hawaiian Isles. I have been here for 
two years, can give information on Hawaii to any- 
one interested. 

1 am afraid the proper procedure is to give a 
descri, POT E of mer so here it is—Red hair, blue 
epes, ft. 10 in., weight, 137, ambition—a 
ood poe Балы pastime, dancing and tennis. 1 

sleve that covers about everything so come on all 
you men, women and little children. Write to а 
sailor who enfoys receiving and answering letters. 

Promising to be a true pen pai, 

H. B. DELONG, JR., 
L. S. S. Oglala, 


Honolulu, Hawaii. 


A BRIBE TO THE LADIES 

Dear Wrangler: 

I have been reading your magazine for a long 
time and would not like to miss a single copy. 

Say, will you help me find some pen pais, the 
more the better. 

1 am 28 years of age, have dark hair, blue eyes, 
ат 5 ft. 10 іп. tali, and weigh around 150 pounds. 

Now come on, ladies and gentlemen from every- 
where and write me. I promise to answer every 
letter I receive and to send the first girl who sends 
Rer snapshot a little gift. The same stands for 
the first girl who writes from a different country, 


TAFT BASHAM, 
McCaskill, Arkansas. 


With hundreds of letters GMAT fn d in every week tt 
fs impossible to int them al Below are the 
names ages of some pen-pals who will be eager 
to near from уои. 


Edna Fallows, (English Miss) 19 Cairns St., 
Oldham, Lancashire, Eng. 

Henry Zavora, (1T, artnet player) Box 206, 
New Salem, Pa. 

Bade Lowsbn, (19, likes music) Pine Hall, 


"Eleanor Harriott, (16, souvenirs to all) Rte. 1, 
Bos 139, Briston, Okla. 

M. Sharp. (has "bum legs") Bristol, 8. D. 

Miss "Winsome, avaga {16 сын dancing) 120 
Barton St. E., Hamilton, Ont 

Litt Жақын (17, wavy ғала В. 1, Pearl City, 

Boyd | herry, (20, gun collector) 1187 Penn. St., 


6 
nest "Scholl, (lumberjack) Samoa, Humboldt 
Co., Calif. 
Pvt. Thomas Rollason, (20, soldier) 61st Pack 
Train, Ft, Davis. 
Pot. Lloyd Waldrip, (20, another soldier) 61st 
Pack Train, Ft. Davis, C. Z. 
Richard Үатајијі, (19, outdoor sport fan) Р. 0. 
Boz 282, Wai u Oahu, T. 
Peggy Woods, (17, will exchange snaps) 6 St. 
Christophers R 7 Haslemere, Surrey 
Tom Ford, has a scrap book) c/o Prices’ 
256 Sta. Fullerton, 4 
Mary Magnani, 714. plays the piano) Bom 175, 
Lodge Grass, Mont. 
Shirley Sinton. 14, real cowboys wanted) 318 
N. 89 75 Tyler, Texas. 
A bil Jones, (16, blonde hair) Mesic 
— Echen, (past sixteen, blue eves) 2592 Hale, 
M 7^ 


p Davis, (5 ft. 8 in. tall) 2 Summer St., 
Malden, Mas 


John MoLoren, (16, has photos of movie stars) 
979 Seneca Ave.. Brookl vod FT. 
Eddie Bento, (16, will exchange snaps) P. 0. 
Box 655, Hilo, Hawaii, 
John "Lamberton, (17, junior in high school) 
526 Central Ave., Sparta, Wisc, 
Lillian Boardman, (13, very slim) no ws Minn, 
manuel Bono, (15, wants paie oe every- 
mere? P. O. 1185, East Hampton, Long Island, 


Edwin Sparky Young, (17, wants to hear from 
sport fans) 515 Roseville Ave, Newark, 

Blanche Warford, (27, very lonesome) 821 Elm 
St., Бап Antonio, Texas. 

Hilda Smith, (18, likes to travel) 228 Newport 
Rd., Middlesbrough, Yorkshire, Eng. 

Füoyd Godwin, (23, native of Texas) Box 18, 


Texas 

Loutse Lamn, (88, black hair) 2156 Kindel Ave., 
Cincinnatt, Ohio. 

David Anderson, (wants pen friends from 0. 8. 
$. ) Kings Creek, Lower Lawrence, Clarence River, 

ew 8. Wales, Austr. 

Мей ар Nye, (12, will exchange photos) 521 
Omar, Houston, Texas. 

age AA Conyers, (17, likes horseback riding) 
Loma, Mont. 

Sheridan Blake, (19, curly hair) 890 Logan St., 
Spartanburg, S. C. 

Wm. M. Cook, (88, ex-service man) Mountain 
Home, Tenn. 
ve Miss Gene Ball, (20, good housekeeper) Bluefield, 


Edwin Hayhurst, (red hair but no temper) 16 
Hopewell Rd., Fairmont, W. Va. 

Wilson Elmendorf, { 21, plays the harmonica) 
C. С. C. Co. 1244, S. , Tompkins Carners, N. Y. 

Rosellen Hrica, n 19. M good-looking ) 
5031 So. Damen Ave., Chicago, lii. 

Helen М. Johnson, (wants to hear from women 
over 35) P. 0. Box 648, Asbury Park, №. J. 

Ruby Davis, (19, lonesome gal) Rte. 6, Box 
279a, Ft. Worth, Texas. 

Wayland Royal, (20, lives on a farm) Rte. 1, 
Clinton, N. 

Dorothy Hartivig, (18, farmerette) В. Е, D. 8, 
ae c. 

W. Potter, (24, Indian relic collector) Rte, 1 
Bow 182, Largo, Fla. 

Stanley Goldbart, (18, fond of Rabe ite ом?) 28 
Warboys' Crescent, Highama Park, London, E. 4, 
Big ne 

aldine Reichert, (29 admits she is cross- 
eyed?) 2615 W. 5181 Ft., Chicago. 

3 (46, divorcee) 885 8, Center, Shaw- 
nee, а. 

Clarence 3 (will answer alt letters) 
Weaver, Texas 


118 


THE TRADING POST 


Hare is where the readers of WESTERN ACTION 

ІТ ELS can exchange. something they have, 
ё do not want, for something that someone 

else may have and that you may want. 

This із a free service, but your announcement 

must not exceed 28 It must be under- 

stood that WESTERN ACTION NOVELS ie not 

responsible for losses sustained. 

Print your announcement clearly. — NotAi! 

bona fide "swaps" will be inserted. No sales, 

а — of this announcement with 

our 


ve 6 volumes Modern Machine pron Practice 
js Want g Technical Society. Like new. Value 
6. Want guns, revolvers, or what have you, 
J. Robedeau, 464 Jackson Drive, Oshkosh, 


eld, N. J. 


pipes 34 15 7 Kodak and = lantern, also peace 
s for M nma or guns for peace pipes. John 
tickles, virbyville, ехав. 


Small electric motor, spark coil, hair clippers, 
other articles, for typewriter, camera, stamps, 
or? Greenough, 381 Palmetto St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 


ave calf, pig and .22 special rifto, also binocu- 

ars and about 25 Westerns. Will talk turkey 

with anybody who has bicycle in good shape or 

Her or anything. Give = an P Dick 
d, Jr., Route 1, Aneta, N. 


Scott's cloth stanip album, 1,000-1,500 varieties, 
&lso golf clubs. Lov eri id for other stamps, un- 
heed U. S. preferred. L. C. Fuller, Box 254, Pine- 
hurst, North Carolina. 


Trade tattoo outfit, remover, old U.S. large cents 

and 8c, pieces, archery sets, $200 Hill electric 
or blade sharpening machine, for offers, Mil- 
, 483 Main, Norfolk, Va. 


Make offers for desk fountain pen, bed lamp, 
taxidermy course, mounted barr owl, gray 
squirrel, red squirrel lamp, opal tie pin, Eastman 
amera, Walter Hinton aviation course. Don 
Hamilton, East Liberty, Ohio. 


e 


————— 
What's offered for $88 N. Y. Inst. movie camera- 
n's — complete in binder. Want minia- 
ure speed Kodaks, Scott's Junior stamp collec- 
іоп--ог? Exchange lists. V. J. McMurtry, 4133 
enmore Ave., Chicago. 


Will swap 30/30 Winchester carbine, model 94 

Bavage .22 model 19 target rifle, for or 24 
ump or automatie shotgun, or what MM you. 
ey Richardson, Swords Creek, Va. 


<------------------------- 
ve large tattooing outfit complete. Want guns, 
lescope, Kodak, etc. Your best offer, enclose 
amp. H. J. Linna, 729 Snow St., Negaunee, 
ich. 


M ——M M M M 
Have canaries, all types tools, radio kits, com- 
tete tackle outfit, aquariums, violin, large list. 
ant electrio motors, tools, appliances com- 
ressor, .22 repeater, or? Jack Kelly, 3471 HB. 
02nd St., Cleveland, Ohio. 


| pe E d LE eee ee 
Want quarters dated before 1928. Anyone gend- 
ing one will receive complete plans for puran 

% good serviceable canoe for as low 46 
онај Merle Bushnell, Owen, Wis. 


аз”. 


Postage and insurance extra 


viu. S. cent over 100 yours «М... 
large copper сепі............ "es «9 


8. $ Wiel 
U. А соррег hg wor half cent over 100 years 


U. S. Columbian half dollars.. ` 
U. S. half dollar over 100 earo oid; 
U. S. fine silver dollar 17 

ЧО, S. gold dollar, old, fine 


10 different dates of Indian head cents...» 250 
U. S, Colonial bill 1797, fine, rare .. 1.00 

ill, artill rtillery..... 4... 10€ 
Virginia $1.00 Age — ртейу...... 104 


oa $10.00 b 


eorgia $5.00 b: 2 
Confederate bill p Jackson. 
California gold erter, an 
California p 
10 different A mda po — bitis 
10 differen 
5 different fore! ＋ e gone 
Roman bronze B.C. 


100 different rie foreign stamp 
5 different five foreign covers 
25 different пісе U. S. stamps 
U. S. first flight cover, fine 
U. S. first day cover..... 
. S. fine cachet cover. 
- mixed foreign stamps. 
000 mixed foreign stam ps „ 

1000 different fore — — fine collection 
Ohio Py ee Be fractional — bill, 1862 


1 
fferent fine foreign stampe 785 


$19. 00 catalogue value Ane diff different foreign 


exican han 


buckle x 
Solid — pretty, hat band 3 mu 


Woven, pretty des: gned horse hair belt. T1 2.85 


Miniature, pretty; pistol shoots a real sh 


TUO eee IR 1.00 
genuine deer feot handle 1.25 


New huntin 
New LE pretty goldstone han- 


in 
New belt — and seis on natural hide 
CCC ( Cr CLE uri E 


Mineral Wen, s, Old West Photos, Beadwork, 
Midian Relies, Stampa, Coins, Bille, Books, Curios. 


Catalogue, 5 Cents 


CURIOS FOR SALE 


te Indian head cent.. 10% 


StSBDG ............................ 1.00 


Miniature queer Aztec 10% 
Tesuque (used) genuine 2 pipe! abowl.. 756 
Catawaba (used) genuine Indian pipebow!. 25¢ 
Pair Sioux beaded bu 3 moccasins. ade 1.50 


INDIAN MUSEUM, Northbranch, Kans. 


119 


— 


— 


„ 5 » Successfully Treated 
No Messy or Greasy Creams 


RINGLETE 


(A LIQUID) 
бері? apply with absorbent cotton after 
WAS. 


ing affected parts in hot water. 


Relieves Itching QUICKLY 


This preparation has been developed only 
after years of experimentation by a physician 
specialist in skin diseases and is now available 
to the general public. 

Contains nothing injurious. 

Send fifty cents in stamps or money order to 


The LEUMAS PRODUCTS СО; 


Sole Distributors 
Room 203-W. A., 1-5 Leonard St, New York City 


AGENTS WANTED 
One to each territory. Write for full par- 


ticulars. 
RRS ETN SSR NS EER VENUE 


220 


our needs and errands taken care of in М, t “ 

r anything of value I can use. Have labels, 
atamps, IM cards, maps, зора photos, etc, 
Coburn, 600 West 146th St., N. Y. C. 


ave: 35 ram. suitcase movie machine, Tom Mix 
film, also comedy, typ@writer, rotary meo- 
graph and developing outfit. Want woodworking 
outfit or what have you? Send list. Wm. Blela- 
mowiez, Box 116, Bremond, Texas. 


Swap 8 pictures of hockey players and 2 pictures 
of ships, plus 5 pictures small of different ships 
for 8 pictures of Mounties. Alec Cavadas, 1296 
Hastings, Vancouver, B. C., Canada. 


Have err and bayonet with case. Wani 
uns, kodaks, or what have you. Write R. Cohen, 
8 Newark Ct, Bayonne, N. J. 


Want .22 rifle, electric trains, Have some old 
revolvers and U.S. stamps. John R, Hughes, 1119 
Sloan St., Scranton, Ph. 


il swap complete 4-volume set cyclopedia of 

drawing by American Technical Society. First 

Е ee takes them. Pete Sílacci, Jr., Cam- 
ria, А 


Want movie actors’ photographs, especiall 
Paramount, R.K.O. stars, old timers too. Wi 
Swap uniqie New Zealand Maori souvenir, worth 
25 cents for one genuine photo. P. Rihari, 
Whakarewarewa, Rotorua, New Zealand. 


Want scientific fiction magazines. Have books, 
Western and Detective mags., fishing rods and 
reels, sh*ét knife, 8-day watch, and other offers, 
Max Belz, Waldoboro, Me, 


Will trade used Edison blue amberol records. 

Have books to trade, Macfadden's health books, 

gr blue amberol records, Theo. Flick, Powelton, 
a. 


Have a fine newspaper reporter course by the 
American Institute, valued at $45, and 5 vol. 
Macfadden's Physical Culture, books, camera, 
etc., for Mint U.S. stamps and Jubilees, G. Nisl- 
voccia, 239-2, Mt. Prospect Ave., Newark, N. J. 
ee 


Cowboy bits and spurs; mounted and engraved; 
very showy. Want Gritzner shoe sole stitcher or 
Sole cutter &nd skiver. Harlan Bridwell, Forest- 
burg, Texas. Е 


ant used, unused, U.S. and foreign stamps. 
swap assured, What can you use? Walter 
B. Kroll, 1792 W. 14th Place, Chicago, Ill. 


Have casting rod and reel, also line and lure. 
Will trade for steel traps, or other trapping 
equipment, Write offer. Comer Campbell, Frank- 
ston, Texas. R. 2. 


Complete $50 fingerprint апа photography 

course, also course on ballistics and crime Ye et 

tion. "Trade for traps, hunting equipment in 

good condition. R. Willams, 1587 N. Cass St., 
ilwaukeè, Wis. 


Wanted, реше type and cuts, also Ibdian 
relics, Will send large swap list for yours. E. W. 
Potter, Route 1, Box 182, Largo, Florida, 


New 110-volt a.c. electric arc welder, plugs into 
light socket, Welds anything. Offer Any thin ex- 
cept an_automobile. Louis Shaffer, 575 Mel- 
bourne, Detroit, Mich. 


What am I offered for a newspaper reporter 
course by the Institute of America, 5 volume set 
of Macfadden's on Physical Culture, magazines, 
coins, camera, etc.? Send list. G, Nisivoccia, 
239-a, Mt, Prospect Avenue, Newark, М, J. 


Beautiful stamp album with between 1,000 and 
2,000 stamps. Can use anything іп exchange, 
Make offers. Leo C. Fuller, Waterville, Maine. 


Want physical culture books, courses, apparatus, 
all kinds correspondéncp courses, Have Sandow- 
Lewis Library of Health, Extra Money for. Car- 
toonists, 20th Century Business Encyclopedia, 
hundreds of mail order plans, etc. Buy, sell, 
trade. Jack (Ace) Lovelace, R. 5, Box 358, In- 
dinnapolls, Ind. 


STATEMENT OF THE OWNERSHIP, MAN- 
GEMENT, CIRCULATION, ETC., REQUIRED 
Y THE ACTS OF CONGRESS OF AUGUST 
24, 1912, AND MARCH 3, 1938, of Westera 
Action Novels Magazine, published bi-monthly 
at New York, N. Y. for October 1, 1936. 
State of New York š 
County of New York f 9 

Before me, a Notary Public in and for the 
State and county aforesaid, personally appeared 
L. Meisel, who, having been duly sworn accord- 
ing to law, deposes and says that he is the 
Business Manager of the Western Action Novels 
Magaztne, and that the following is, to the best 
of his Knowledge and belief, a true statement of 
the ownership, management, etc., of the afore- 
Said publication for the date shown in the above 
caption, required by the Act of August 24, 1912, 
as amended by the Act of March 3, 1933, em- 
bodied in section 537, Postal Laws and Regula- 
tions, printed on the reverse of this form, to wit: 

l. That the names and addresses of the pub- 
lisher, editor, managing editor and business 
manager are: 

Publisher, Winford Publications, Inc., 165 
Franklin St., N. Y. C.; Editor, Cliff Campbell, 
165 Franklin St, N. Y. C.; Managing Editor, 
Cliff Campbell, 165 Franklin St., N. Y. C.; Busi- 
ЕЗІ Manager, L. Meisel, 165 Franklin St., 


2. That the owner is: Winford Publications, 
Inc. 165 Franklin St, N. Y. C.; Harry Kantor, 
165 Franklin St., N. Y. C.; L. Meisel, 165 Frank- 
Un St., N. Y. C. 

3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees, 
and other security holders owning or holding 1 

r cent or more of the total amount of bonds, 

ortgages, or other securities are: none. 

4. That the two paragraphs next above giving 
the names of the owners, stockholders, and se- 
curity holders, if any, contains not only the list 
of stockholders and security holders as they ap- 
pear upon the books of the company, but also, ín 
cases where the stockholder or security holder 
appears upon the books of the company as trus- 
tees or in any other fiduciary relation, the name 
of the person or corporation for whom such trus- 
tee is acting, is giwen; also that the said two 
paragraphs contain statements embracing 
affiant’s full knowledge and belief as to the eir- 
cumstances and conditions under which stock- 
Holders and security holders, who do not appear 
a the books of the company as trustees, hold 

ock and securities in a capacity other than 
that of a bona fide owner; and this afflant has 
no reason to believe that any other person, asso- 
elation, or corporation has any interest direct or 
fndirect in the said stock, bonds or other securi- 
tios than as so stated by him. 

L. MEISEL, Business Manager. 

Sworn to and subscribed before me this 15th 

iy of October, 1986. Monty Algae, Notary Pub- 

©, commission expires March 30, 1938. 


HAVE A NEW SKIN! 
Xe xim | 


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end learn that what waa considered impossible before—the re- 
moral of pimples, bleckheads, freckles, tan, oily skin, large pores, 
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harmlessly and economics y at home in three days’ time, as stated 
by legions of men and women, young and 014. 
ши all explained in a new free treatise called 
“BEAUTIFUL NEW SKIN IN 3 DAYS" 
which їз being mailed absolutely free to readers of this magazine. 80 
по more over your hüumilating skin and complexion or signs of 
aging if your outer akin looks soiled and worn. Simply send your mame 
nd &ddross to М O BEAUTY LABORATORIES, Dept. 388-Е, 
No. 170^ Broadway, New York. М. T., and you will receive this 
treatise by teturn mail in pes wrapper, postpaid and abéo- 
Tae pleased, tell friends, 


WHEN YOU BUY THE 


s Games of chance may be all right 
in their place—but why risk your 
money whenyou buy razor blades! 
Probak Jr. is produced by the 
world’s largest manufacturer of 
razor blades. Here is known 
uality —a double-edge blade 
at “stands up” for shave after 
shave—sells at 

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121 


THIS REVELATION 
WILL STARTLE MEN 


PAST 40! 


But It May Bring Years of 
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HAYS you lost much of your strength? 
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weakness, - = 
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The True Meaning of a Tiny Giand 


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122 


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125 


STOP oun Rupture 


FILLED WITH AIR. 

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Read These Reports on 
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"Completely Recovered” 


This is to certify that I have completely re- 
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Likes Brooks Best 


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"Runs and Plays" 


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tuptute.— Mis. М. rge, Route 1, 
Box 103, Cumberland, Md. 


124 


used for 
Femoral Rupture with 
equal success: 


SENT ON 
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Brooks Appliance Co. 
168-F State St. 
Marshall, Michigan 


Worries! 


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RUPTURE INVENTION! 


HY worry and suffer any longer? 

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It has brought ease, comfort and happi- 
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Simple and Efficient Support 
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s CONFIDENTIAL COUPON 
| for RUPTURE SUFFERERS i 
! H. C. BROOKS, President 


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Forbidden Sedi of, dp 
Sex one Daningly Rev dert 


Away with false modesty! At last з ATYR OPPOSITE 

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Love is фе most magnificent ecstasy іп love-making? Or, a master of its ok DRIVING THE ONE 


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MORE THAN 100 VIVID PICTURES 
, Tbe 106 illustrations leave nothing to tha N 
imagination ... know how to overcome PREVENT 
— mi . know what to do of E 
your wedding night to avoid the torturing DISEASE 
zesults of ignorance. "s 
Some will be offended by the amaziag 
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for prudery and false modesty. : 
1 a slave ,2 Pope а 1 
e га us ts of the perfect 
ары int ы 
t ои. сек 
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dearly startingly teld.. . study these illus- 
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lus postage. 
if you are not com; т. satisfied, sen 
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mediately without question. “Sex Harmony 
and Eugenics” will aot be sold to minors. . 


This BOOK 
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MINORS 
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